


Astrolabe

by reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent



Series: Terra Incognita [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Coffee Shop Owner Gabriel, College Student Sam, Fluff, Grad Student Castiel, Grad Student Dean, Multi, Pie, Post-it Notes, Sam Ships It, Slow Burn, hints of Gabriel/Sam Winchester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reluctantabandon/pseuds/reluctantabandon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winter_of_our_Discontent/pseuds/Winter_of_our_Discontent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Are you writing notes to someone, Dean? Like, a pen pal?” </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“He isn’t a frickin’ pen pal. He’s some weird nerdy dude at the carrel next to mine.”</i></p><p>  <i>“So you’re just passing notes back and forth in the library like grade-schoolers? That’s hilarious.” Sam squinted at the note again. “I can barely read this handwriting. Is he a med student?”</i></p><p>  <i>“One, I have never actually met the guy, he’s got some weird-ass schedule, hence the notes, and two, his handwriting is totally legible, he studies art or angels or some shit, and what’s with the third degree?”</i></p><p> <br/>Two graduate students, two adjoining library carrels, and the beginning of an unexpectedly epistolary romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Unattached Drifter Christmas, everyone!
> 
> NOT A WIP. This fic is complete and new chapters will be posted on Saturdays.  
> Also, the authors have never been to KU or Watson Library, so please excuse any liberties taken with the campus, which will be many, varied, and possibly ludicrous. They have, however, been to grad school AND to libraries, so there’s that. 
> 
> Embedded images will have transcription posted below them.
> 
> Bribery of authors may result in fic being posted more quickly than scheduled. You can find us on tumblr as reluctantabandon (reluctantabandon) and bamfinacuddlyjumper (Winter_of_our_Discontent).
> 
> All the usual disclaimers apply: we don't own the characters, and we will profit only in the tears and squee of our readers.

Castiel Novak sighed as he surveyed his demesne for the next nine months. A library carrel. That was it. His second year at KU, teaching fellowship in Art History, and all he merited was a slab of scarred, peeling-at-the edges laminate with two drawers beneath it, tucked in a corner of the fourth floor of the library. Well, space was tight; it wasn’t as though the actual professors had impressive offices, either. Most of his professors shared, including the tenured ones. Perhaps that accounted for the high incidence of married couples in his field.

He sighed again. At least the drawers had locks. He put his books down on the desk and pulled out the top drawer, which immediately fell to pieces. He stood there, holding the drawer front by the cheap metal handle, trying very very hard not to scream and throw the abomination across the library.

When he brought the drawer over to the fourth floor info desk, the scrawny, bearded guy at the computer just shrugged and gave him an apologetic smile. He would need to acquire a screwdriver before his next visit. And some screws. And wood glue. And possibly a tire iron… Cas abandoned that unproductive train of thought and concentrated on arranging his reference books in the order he preferred (sorted by subject area, then alphabetized).

He’d had a carrel the year before, as well, but it had been slightly better situated, on the third floor, directly across from the Ns. Also, it had afforded a view of one of the gorgeous Gothic inspired windows. This carrel looked like an afterthought, squeezed in with three of its brethren into a space between two columns. Unfortunate. At least a restroom was located nearby. He looked mournfully down at his empty coffee cup, then up at the off-white popcorn ceiling. Could he really justify getting another cup of coffee? His pocketwatch showed that only fifteen minutes had passed. He shook his head a bit, laughing at himself, then sat down, opening his notebook and retrieving a pen from his satchel. It was certainly going to be a long, long semester.

 

***

 

“Hey, Sammy, I’m home!” Dean dumped his pile of books on the corner of the kitchen table, eyeing the already-hopeless swath of papers his little brother had smeared across most of it.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam yelled from somewhere down the hallway. “Be right there.”

Dean shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it across the back of a chair, then snagged a beer from the fridge. He leaned against the counter and downed the first long sip with a sigh of contentment. It felt good to be in his own space again, especially after the first day of classes. This semester was gonna be a doozy, he could tell. Already he’d pissed off the head of the department enough that he’d had to sign up for a graduate study carrel in Watson instead of the Engineering library. He snorted. Prof. Zachariah Adler was a dick at the best of times, and when Dean had got in his face about getting screwed over for TA appointments again, the guy had retaliated by giving away Dean’s study space to another student.

Whatever. He’d scoped the place out, at least; not the best spot, but he did better away from traffic anyway, and at least he was in a location with only a few other carrels. And near the bathroom. And, hopefully, within carefully-targeted spitball distance of Chuck. Ah, sweet revenge.

Sam appeared in the kitchen door, grinning. “Hey. Got one for me?”

“Sure, hot stuff.” Dean reached into the fridge. “How was your first day?”

“Great!” Sam got his excited-puppy look. “I thought my last humanities core class was gonna suck, since I put it off for so long, but the TA seems really cool.” He gave Dean a sly look. “He’s also pretty hot.”

Dean laughed. “No hitting on the profs, young man. You know the drill. Only nine months left til you get a clear field.”

“Well, he’s actually more your type than mine. Serious case of bedhead, gorgeous eyes, and today he wore a vest with an actual pocket watch.”

“Yeah, but seriously? A Humanities grad? Probably a douche. Wears ties ironically and knows way too many long words.” Dean tipped back the last of his beer and looked sadly at his empty bottle.

“Nah, like I said, seems really cool. No douchebaggery at all.”

“Like I’d trust your judgment on that front.” Dean snagged another bottle from the fridge, raising an eyebrow in question at his brother, who shook his head and held up a mostly-full beer. “Pre-law. The most douchebag-ridden major at this school.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch. So how were all the classes you _didn’t_ spend drawing hearts around the professor’s name?”

Sam made a face. “Real funny, Dean. Yeah, the rest of my classes were great. I know all my other profs already; mostly this is gear-up for the final semester, you know? And, shit, I gotta finish my law school applications by the end of the month. I’ve only got two to go.” He sucked down half his beer in agitation.

Dean laughed at him. “C’mon, Sammy, lighten up. Those schools will be offering you free money right and left, no problem.”

Sam laughed, then his face sobered. “Y’know, I’m seriously thinking about sticking with Kansas for the J. D. We’re ranked really high by lawyers in the field, like 23rd in the country. And we’ve got a fantastic social law program here. Plus I know for sure that my profs want me to stay; there’d be no question I’d get a full ride.” He looked down, twisting his beer bottle between massive paws, and sighed.

Dean just looked at him. “Don’t you dare stay here because of the money, Sam. We’ll manage, wherever you get in. Don’t sell yourself short, either. I meant it when I said that schools’re gonna be bustin’ down our door to get their hands on your fine lawyerly ass.” He grinned as his brother looked up at him, hopeful under scraggly bangs. He clapped Sam on the back. “You’ll be payin’ for my school before you know it, Sandra Day O’Connor.”

Sam just rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder. “Weak, Dean. Totally weak.”

“What’s for dinner, wifey? I want pot roast.” Dean grinned again as Sam made Bitchface #9: _Really Tired Of Your Shit, Dean_.

“Leftovers or leftovers. We gotta go grocery shopping, man, everything we’ve got left is in a can or a box.”

“Nah, there’s some bread, look, and some cheese — hey, is there tomato soup? Traditional Winchester first-day-of-school dinner!” Dean held up the loaf and package of orange American cheese in triumph.

“Awww, I knew you cared. Yeah, here’s a can. I’ll do this if you make the grilled cheese.”

“You got it, Samsquatch.”

 

***

_[Post-it Note] Carrel #352, please refrain from leaving your used tissues on the floor. There is a convenient waste can located at the north end of this carrel aisle._

 

 

[Note on torn notebook page] Are you serious?!?! It was ONE tissue, ONE TIME. And I picked it up like an hour later! I didn't even know I dropped it! ! Lighten up, dude.

 

***

 

_Carrel #352, I believe I am adequately lightened at this time, since I left my own used tissues in your bottom right-hand drawer. Sincerely, Carrel #353._

 

  
[written on top of the previous post-it note in different pen/handwriting. Note is flanked by several balled up Kleenex] GROSS.

 

***

Castiel maneuvered his way quickly through the crowded library lobby. Undergraduates everywhere, like cicadas, suddenly omnipresent and noisy. They surrounded him, expressions veering between shell-shocked and needlessly-confident in this second week of classes. Castiel kept his head down, preoccupied with a particular illustration in the Edlund Gospels. It kept reminding him of something else he’d recently come across...if he could only puzzle it out, the reference darting around the edges of his memory like a hummingbird—

“Oof!”

“Oh, sorry!” Castiel looked up in shock as strong hands caught his arms, preventing him from spinning off his feet. Green, green eyes looked back at him, surrounded by long, golden lashes and accompanied by a smattering of frankly adorable freckles that had him reeling more than the impact.

“Oh,” said Castiel faintly. The demigod before him grinned and released him. Castiel’s arms felt suddenly cold in the places the man’s hands no longer occupied. Wow. His heart was pounding, not just from the near-miss, but from the...wow. Eyes, grin, and freckles registered somewhere in his not-quite-processing brain as ‘WANT.’ He tried a tentative grin back, felt a rather emphatic pat on his shoulder and then the man was gone.

Castiel twisted quickly around and saw broad shoulders disappearing in the direction of the library cafe. He had a sudden overpowering desire for some manner of caramel mocha latte.

When he arrived at the bar, however, the man was nowhere to be seen. A slender, dark-haired woman, whose nametag read “Meg” and attitude read “phenomenally unimpressed by your existence,” took his coffee order instead.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” she drawled, pen poised to write.

“Uh. Castiel.” Her eyebrow rose. He barely noticed, occupied as he was in trying to peer over her shoulder into the back of the establishment.

“Ok, well, nobody’s gonna be able to spell that one, let alone pronounce it. Let’s call you Clarence,” she said, in a manner that indicated the matter was closed. “You look like a Clarence.”

“You can just put Cas. That would suffice.”

“Nah, I like Clarence, so Clarence you shall be. Three fifty, angel.”

Cas handed over his five and took the change without comment. He was still occupied with imagining what combination of pigments a medieval illuminator would have had to utilize to portray the stranger’s precise shade of green-gold.

“It’ll be up in just a minute.” She smiled and whirled away down the counter.

Cas hovered for a moment, unsure, then caught sight of a tiny queue of people hovering hopefully near a counter marked “Pick-Up.” He moved over to stand near them, tucking his change absently into the impressively deep pocket of his battered but still serviceable beige trenchcoat.

Oh. He hadn’t been dreaming, after all. There he was. The man, upon whom Cas’ brain had already bestowed the brilliant sobriquet “Verdigris Eyes” or maybe just “Verdigris” for short, was at the espresso machine, steaming milk and laughing at something another worker had said. Cas realized he was grinning idiotically and tried to tone it down a bit, less “insane creeper” and more “ah, yes, I see you, simple humans, at your mundane tasks. How quaint.” He suddenly felt like his hands were too big and tried to cram them in the pockets of his coat, only to realize he was still holding his bag. Ah. Yes. He could just...casually sling his messenger bag onto his shoulder. Now what? He tried to look around, again casually, but his eyes kept returning to Verdigris Eyes. He wore a black polo shirt that showed off his arms, and the green cafe apron seemed to brighten the hue of his eyes to an almost supernatural degree. Botticelli would have adored the shape of his face, the lush curve of his lips, the strong, almost Roman line of his nose.

Cas certainly did.

 

***

 

 

_Carrel #352, your Mechanical Engineering 445 notebook is at the front circulation desk. I successfully dissuaded an irate facilities professional from throwing it away. Sincerely, Carrel #353._

 

THANK YOU!!!!! I would not have survived the week without that, never mind the semester. I owe you a drink, buddy. --D

***

 

You left your creepy Latin angel book on my chair again. That thing weighs like fifty pounds. You shouldn’t even need to check your bag before you take off. --D

 

 

_Carrel #352- The Arcana Coelestia is an important part of my advanced Art and World Religions independent study, and I would appreciate its return as soon as possible this time._

_Sincerely, #353_

_[in smaller font, postscript] Also, your ridiculous Engineering textbooks must weigh nearly double what the A. C. weighs._

 

 

What do you mean, “this time?” I left the thing at the desk for you. Not my fault if you didn’t see my note. --D

p.s. it’s at the Circ Desk.

 

 

_Carrel #352-  The note was located on the underside of my chair. How was I supposed to locate it? Telepathy? Omniscience? The intercessory medium of prayer? Sincerely, Carrel 353._

 

 

Dude, what? I taped the note to your desk. Shit. I bet that idiot Chuck thought it’d be funny if he moved it. Sorry! If you lose a book, next time check the circ desk first.--D

 

 

_Who is “that idiot Chuck?”_

 

 

He’s the dude who usually sits at the info desk. Squirrely-looking guy, usually looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few weeks and sleeps in a bottle? --D

 

 

_Oh. Him. Yes.  Why would he tape your note to the bottom of my chair? --C_

 

 

Because he’s an idiot. And he likes to do really stupid stuff. Like kindergarten-level stuff. This one time he tied my shoelaces together. --D

 

 

_How did he manage that? He must have been very stealthy. --C_

 

 

 

Well I was asleep. Totally legit, it was in that really sunny corner with the comfy chairs a floor down. Great place to nap. I fell on my ass and I could hear him laughing in the stacks. He apologized later. --D

  
  
***


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, hand me that towel, will ya, gorgeous?” Meg winked as she made grabby hands.

 

Dean tossed her the towel with one hand as he scooped ice with the other. “Anyone in the back? We need more lids.” He dumped ice into a clear plastic cup and filled it with chilled espresso from the cooler.

 

“Yeah, saw Ruby back there a while ago.” Meg’s smile turned nasty. “Alfie was back there, too. I hope he comes out alive.”

 

Dean shook his head, grinning. “He’d better, I ain’t covering any more of his shifts this month even if I can use the hours.”

 

Meg tsked. “Mmm, makes you wonder just what kind of disease he contracted that kept him out of work that long, poor baby.” She shook her head ruefully.

 

“Jesus, Meg, it was the flu, not the clap!”

 

“Yeah, he’d have to have touched a girl… or a boy… for that.”

 

“Ouch. Well, he’s a little too young for me, so it’ll have to be you.” Dean chuckled as Meg rolled her eyes.

 

“I prefer my conquests a little…”

  
“Experienced?”

 

“Closer to the age of consent.”

 

“Oh, he’s close, just wrong side.”

 

“Oh, and speaking of consenting,” Meg smiled sweetly, “your angel just came in.”

 

“He’s not my angel,” Dean said automatically, trying not to give himself whiplash turning to look. Yep, there he was, just walking through the main library doors, looking ridiculously sexy with his hair all wind-mussed and his cheeks reddened by the wind. He looked kinda out of it today; Dean wondered if he was going to walk right by the cafe this time, or stop by for his usual.

 

“Counter or register?” Meg hissed in his ear.

 

“Uh, counter!” Dean pushed past her toward the flavorings. Meg shook her head, rolling her eyes again.

 

He listened, while trying not to obviously listen, as Clarence (and dude did not LOOK like a Clarence) interacted with Meg. His hands hovered over the cups, but he held himself completely still until the order had actually been said out loud, because even though he knew the order, it was what the guy always got, Dean wasn’t gonna be a creeper about it. Once he’d ordered his usual, though, Dean got moving, making the drink with practiced efficiency. He threw in a couple of extra flourishes too, in case the dude was watching. And then he threw in a big smile as he presented the finished drink to Clarence, who’d moved to stand by the pick-up area with the slightly confused look he perpetually wore. The expression should have looked stupid and not cute, but… it was cute.    

 

“And here you go, one medium latte.” Dean smiled a little — he didn’t want to smile too wide and look like a lunatic, or not enough and look like a douche. He hoped this kind of half-smile-thing was working for him.

 

“Thank you,” the man said, with a low, gravelly voice that could have had a starring role in a film noir. Or at least Dean’s fantasies.

 

“No problem,” said Dean, trying for breezily casual and probably hitting somewhere around desperately dorky. He winced internally, but— oh. Oh, wait. The guy was smiling back— just a little, an upturn at the corner of those gorgeous lips, and looking up at Dean through some of the longest, darkest eyelashes he’d ever seen. Those eyes, god. Dean swallowed, pushing the cup across the counter, feeling a crazy rush as just the tips of his fingers touched his angel’s.

 

“Have a nice day,” he said faintly, and those blue eyes crinkled.

 

“And you as well.”

 

As the guy turned and walked away, Dean sagged against the counter, too lost in a suddenly epic fantasy to hear Meg’s shrieks of laughter.

 

***

 

 

_Do you habitually use the library as a place to recover from a lack of regular rest? -C_

 

 

its not like I plan it that way.. I sit over there to try and read and I inevitably fall asleep. My textbooks aren’t exactly Vonnegut. But those are the comfiest chairs, carrels are great if I’m trying to do equations or write or something, but for reading I have to slouch. -D

 

 

_Perhaps you should try reading at your carrel if being comfortable makes you fall asleep. -C_

 

What are you, my mom? Besides, it’s a time-honored tradition to fall asleep in the comfy chairs at the library. Supposed to make up for all the partying. --D

 

  
_Indeed? Perhaps I should try it sometime. I confess that partying is something in which I seldom take part. --C_

 

 

Why am I not surprised? It’s ok, I did most of mine as an undergraduate anyway. Now it’s all work and studying and an occasional department function. Wow, that sounds boring. It’s really not, though. --D

 

 

_I rarely partied as an undergraduate, either, though that is less a function of my field of study than a personal choice. Perhaps it was just the people with whom I associated. The functions here have been quite lively. --C_

 

Ours can get kinda dangerous if the right people are there and drunk enough. I tend to leave before it gets too crazy. MEs can get pretty wild. Not like I don’t like a good party, but last time some of the doctoral students rigged a Rube Goldberg device that added more alcohol to the punch whenever anyone walked in or out. It got a little messy. --D

 

 

_Impressive. At my last event I was cornered by an Emeritus who very earnestly laid out for me the discrepancies in the Gregorian calendar and their effects on the modern Catholic church’s illustrated missalettes. For two hours. I was sadly sober at the time, though he was most certainly not. --C_

 

Yeah, you win. So why don’t I ever see you at your carrel? You have a crazy class schedule or something? --D

 

 

_I do have very limited hours of study time at the library. My schedule this semester is quite busy.--C_

 

***

 

Careful observation and the earning of at least one free drink on his punch card had revealed that Verdigris Eyes habitually worked Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday evenings at the cafe; not, of course, counting the various disruptions and rearrangements of the schedule common in a food service establishment staffed primarily by college students.

 

***

 

 

What’s your major? Mine’s Mechanical Engineering, though you probably already guessed that. --Dean

 

 

_I’m in the Art History department with a focus on art of the Medieval period. -Castiel_

 

***

 

“Good evening, Pellinore,” Castiel said, kicking his shoes off and dumping his messenger bag on the chair near the door. The cat trilled a greeting before winding around his ankles in a manner communicating either affection or yet another attempt to fatally trip him.

 

Given the state of the cat’s food dish, he would continue to presume the former.

 

“You know,” a familiar voice called out from the kitchen, “if you wanted to live with a needy little shit who never helps with chores and sheds everywhere, we could have just stayed roomies.”

 

Castiel finished hanging up his trenchcoat. “The cat, at least, is fixed.”

 

“Ouch, cuz, ouch,” Gabriel said, covering his heart with his hand in a parody of injury. “And I even brought dinner!”

 

“I gave you the spare keys so you could catsit during conferences, not pretend to be in some cheesy sitcom.”

 

“Like you’d know a cheesy sitcom if it bit you on the ass. Name one and I’ll leave you alone with your dinner.” Gabe waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

 

Cas stared at Gabriel for a few moments before silently conceding defeat. “What did you bring?”

 

Gabe pranced over to the kitchen table and began pulling cartons out of a paper bag. “Okay, we’ve got Massaman Curry chicken, Pad Thai with shrimp, drunken noodle, some spring rolls and fried taro root. Also mango lassi because there’s an Indian restaurant right next door. And—”

 

“....how many desserts?”

 

“Just the three. Mango sticky rice, coconut cake, and fried bananas.” Gabe grinned. “Enough for each of us to have everything!” He pulled out the mango lassi and handed one to Cas, slurping on his own with a blissful sigh.

 

“No pastries tonight?” Cas asked, surprised. “Unusual for you.”

 

“Nah, even I get sick of my own baking sometimes, cuz.”  Gabe looked at him innocently over the straw.

 

Castiel cocked his head slightly to the side and looked at his cousin consideringly.

 

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, Charlie threatened me with beheading if I took anything else out of the case tonight. We were running a little low.” Gabe grinned again, then put his drink down and turned to the cabinets, getting out plates and glasses for each of them, then rummaging in the drawers for flatware. Cas started opening up the cartons, breathing in the delicious steam and wondering exactly when was the last time he had a substantial meal. He never set out with the intent to skip nourishment, he just had a tendency to become so engrossed in his studies that time escaped him.

 

“Thank you for the food, Gabriel, it was considerate of you. Things are well at Sweet Paradise?”

 

Gabe waved a spoon in the air. “It’s nothin’, cuz. Yeah, things are great — I might need to hire another staff member if business keeps up.” He grabbed a spring roll and piled some rice on his plate. “I’m gonna need someone to help with production even more than with counter work. Stuff is flying off the shelves! It might just be the beginning of the semester, but it’s been pretty steady all this month.”

 

Castiel, of course, was too polite to talk with his mouth full, and Gabriel loved hole-in-the-wall ethnic food enough to want to focus on it, which left them in companionable silence as they ate.

 

Finally Gabe pushed his plate back with a sigh. “Almost dessert time, Cassie! So what else is new? Got any hot, nubile young studs in your Art History class? Anybody making moony-eyes at your lissome figure yet?” Gabe giggled to himself as he brought out yet more cartons of food.

 

“It would be tremendously inappropriate to engage in any form of relationship with my students,” Cas said, sipping his lassi. “Besides, they all appear to be roughly twelve.”

 

“Whereas you are an ancient primordial being from before the dawn of mankind. You seriously need to get laid, Cassie. Check out something that isn’t a book. Pull your sword outta the stone. Or put it into the stone. Not quite sure where I was going with that metaphor, now that I think about it.”

 

“I am very busy this semester,” Castiel said, and left it at that, because he could have given Gabriel the _Tres Riches Heures du Castiel, etudiant du Kansas_ and they’d still be having this discussion. Again. He briefly considered pushing the cat off his lap for the third time since he’d started eating, but apparently every being in his life was going to be stubborn and difficult this evening.

 

“Busy, schmizzy,” Gabe said, setting a plate in front of Cas loaded with desserts. “Here, eat this. ‘I’m so busy I don’t have time to fuck’ is not in my vocabulary. Go to some parties, hook up with people! It’s fun. No commitments, including time. A quickie and you’re done.” He stuffed half a piece of coconut cake in his mouth, sighing contentedly. “I know you study the middle ages but you aren’t actually a monk.”

 

“I have no particular interest in ‘quickies’,” Cas said, making quotation marks with his fingers for emphasis. “I would like a ‘relationship,’ but as that would involve meeting someone who was neither under nor over me, and stop that, Gabriel, I can _hear_ you having dirty thoughts about my phrasing… the only people I currently have regular interaction with are my students and my department, all of whom are off limits even if I were interested, which, frankly, I’m not.”

 

Gabriel dropped the expression of innocence he’d put on at Cas’ accusation. “Well, Cassie, you’re not gonna meet anyone up here in your tower. You’ve got to get out if you wanna meet someone! You do know what parties are, right? Those things you go to where you, you know, meet people?!” Gabe shook his head. “I know you’re busy, but I don’t like to see you cloister yourself like this.” He waggled his eyebrows. “See what I did there?” Cas rolled his eyes as Gabriel continued. “I’ve been invited to a party Kali’s throwing on Friday. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to some hot guys. You’ll at least get to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around people who’ve been dead for five hundred years.”

 

“Fine.” Cas held up the hand that wasn’t currently functioning as a barrier between Pellinore and Cas’ desserts. “If I get my Kalamazoo abstract finished and submitted beforehand, if it means you leaving me alone about my social life for a period of at least three weeks, and if you refrain, at the party, from trying to ‘arrange’ anything for me. I would like at least the pretense of engaging with others on my own merits. If you agree to all those points, I will attend her party.”

 

Gabriel whooped. “Huzzah, Cassie! We’ll get you laid yet.” He stuffed a huge spoonful of sticky rice into his mouth and chewed. “I’ll pick you up Friday at six. We can get some dinner beforehand. And condoms.”

 

He knew Gabriel genuinely meant well, which was far more than he could say of the rest of his family. But like them, he suffered from the blind spot of being unable to imagine that what was best for him wasn't by virtue of being best for him therefore the ideal state for the rest of humanity, as well as from a certain lack of boundaries. Castiel did desire companionship, but he knew he tended to give the same intensity to his relationships that he did to particularly fascinating marginalia, which for some people was a bit off-putting. One former boyfriend had said that being with him was rather like being Joan of Arc — filled with ecstasy or being burned at the stake, no middle ground. It made him ineffectual at anything casual— if he was interested in someone he'd move Heaven and Hell for them, otherwise why bother?

 

And of course, not everyone was willing to be in a love triangle with his PhD.

 

"I am serious about you arranging things for me. If you need new projects that badly, perhaps you should direct your excess energy towards your store. I'm sure Charlie would appreciate new dessert designs."

 

“I’m wounded, Castiel,” said Gabriel drily, stealing a fried banana slice from Cas’ plate. “I did three new recipes already this week. Plus, Charlie’s so overworked she’s begging me to hire more people.”

 

"The influx of new students should give you plenty of hiring options."

 

Gabe made a face. “Well, the problems with hiring students are legion. If you want people who aren’t gonna bail on you for the ticket line for Ke$ha, you need experience. I mean, baristas are a dime a dozen, but that doesn’t mean they’re good or reliable. So baristas may come and go, but chocolatieres and bakery people stay. That’s why I do the thirty-day trial, you know?” He sucked on the last of his mango lassi, slurping like a toddler. "I'd rather hire good people that I can leave alone to do their jobs."

 

"According to Charlie it's more akin to hiring good people and leaving them to do your job."

 

"Hey, someone's got to go out and bring home the artisanal single source fair trade high cacao content chocolate-covered bacon."

 

***

 

  
_[in large, messier than usual cursive over three different post-it notes] If you value your ability to function avoid consuming the "Angel Orange" desserts at Sweet Paradise. Most especially avoid being fed more than four of them by a suspiciously generous proprietor. Though I suspect that is my particular cross to bear. - C_

 

  
You okay, Cas?

  


 

_[in his usual handwriting] Well enough, thank you. I made the mistake of attending my cousin’s party, drank too much at said party, and then unwisely accepted a hangover cure from a firm believer in the “hair of the dog” school of treatment._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you we'd post every Saturday. 
> 
> Chapter notes:
> 
> Cas is referencing the _Tres Riches Heures du Duc du Berry,_ an absolutely gorgeous Book of Hours and one of the best-known examples of French Gothic manuscript illumination.
> 
> Kalamazoo, MI (specifically Western Michigan University) is the site of one of the largest annual Medieval academic conferences, and a hell of a good time. Attendees usually just call it Kalamazoo or Kzoo, as 'the International Congress on Medieval Studies' is a bit of a mouthful.
> 
> The note written by drunk/hungover Cas was actually written while drunk, due to Winter's strong dedication to detail and RA's strong dedication to Fireball.


	3. Chapter 3

“How are things with you and Gilda?” Castiel asked.

Charlie sighed, wrapping her hands around her mug of chai. “ ‘Free spirit’ sounds awesome, y’know? It’s part of what I love about her. But… Sometimes it just feels like an excuse for her to be flaky.”

“Have you talked with her about it?”

“She’s barely around, and then when she is, we always end up…you know.” Charlie turned red to match her hair. “And then she’s gone again and the whole thing restarts.”

“You deserve someone you can count on, Charlie.”

Charlie sighed, more exasperated this time. “Ugh. It’s not like I can’t count on her while she’s around, you know? When she’s here, she’s here. She’s just kind of rootless...and I always feel as if this is gonna be the time she leaves for good.”

Cas made a sympathetic noise. “I have had a relationship similar to that one. He was from a wealthy family, a world traveler, and he refused to be what he called ‘tied down’ by traditional couple guidelines.”

Charlie scowled. “You mean he screwed around on you? Not cool.”

Cas shook his head. “Not that I ever discovered, although I had my suspicions at one time. He would simply send a goodbye email or text and be gone for weeks at a time, only to return and tell me stories about his adventures.” He smiled, a bit sadly. “He was wonderful when he was around...but he was never around. And I decided that I wanted something else.”

“So what did you do?” Charlie’s eyes were round over her cup as she sipped.

Cas shrugged awkwardly. “I...told him that our time together had been marvelous, and that I liked him very much, but I was ready for a relationship with more commitment. It was painful. Mostly because he took it in his stride and left for Moscow the following day.”

“That bastard!” Charlie said with feeling. “I would have kneed him in the balls.”

“Well,” Castiel said softly, “you certainly can’t do that to Gilda.” He paused. “ Would you want to?”

Charlie sighed again, her deepest yet, and slumped backwards on the couch. “Arrgh, I don’t know! I mean, I love her to bits...but I don’t think….I’m not in love with her, you know?” She traced a pattern on the upholstery with a finger. “It would hurt to break up with her, yeah, but I don’t....I kind of think she’d react the same way your guy did. Just kind of...shrug and smile and flutter away.”

Cas shook his head sadly. “People say we can’t choose who we love, but we can certainly choose how we allow ourselves to be treated. And if you don’t like it, Charlie, you need to tell her.” Cas reached and took Charlie’s hand as her face crumpled in misery.

“But it’s so fucking hard!” she wailed. Cas slid closer and put his arm around her, and Charlie sobbed into his shirt as he held her tight.

Charlie’s tears only lasted a few minutes, and she sat upright, wiping her eyes with her hands before Castiel rose and fetched the box of tissues from the kitchen.

“Thanks, Cas.” Charlie blew her nose and patted her swollen eyes with a tissue. “You’re the best. Even if you make me think about things I don’t want to think about.” She heaved a huge, gusty sigh and flopped back onto the couch cushions. “When did you get so wise, anyway?”

“Have to keep ahead of Gabriel.” Cas smiled tenderly down at his friend. “I’m wise about other things, too.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s get takeout.”

Charlie gave him a watery smile. “Perfect.”

 

***

 

 

How’s your poker face?

 

_You can’t read my, no you can’t read my poker face._

 

 

Dude, of all the pop culture stuff you don’t get, you know Lady Gaga?

 

 

\

 

_You haven’t truly heard it until you’ve heard my cousin perform it at karaoke. --C_

 

 

 

I’m more of a Dead or Alive man myself. Anyway how are you at lying?

 

 

_Poor. Why? --C_

  
  


 

In that case, you may just want to avoid Chuck for ~~a few days~~   ~~a week~~ a couple of weeks.

  
  


 

_What did you do? --C_

  
  
  


 

Safer if you don't know, trust me.

  
  
  


 

_I find that I do._

  
  


***

  
  


“Hey Professor Novak, have you got a minute?”

 

Castiel glanced up from organizing his papers. “Please, call me Castiel, I’m not a professor just yet. And yes, I have time to talk. How can I help you… It’s Sam, right?”  

 

Sam grinned down at him. “Yeah. Um, I had a question related to today’s lecture. I’m thinking about topics for the final paper, and today you said that the Egyptians’ belief in the weighing of souls kind of translates into the modern idea of the scales of justice. Would that be an okay topic for the paper? Tracing the idea of that symbol and looking at how it’s used today?”

 

“That’s a very ambitious topic,” Castiel said, then held up a hand to forestall Sam’s response. “But far be it from me to discourage ambition, especially this early in the semester. I’m guessing you’re pre-law?”

 

“That obvious, huh?” Sam felt his grin widen. “Yeah, I’m in my last year, figured I’d try to crowbar some law into my art history class.” He hoisted his bag up further onto his shoulder. “You think it’s an okay topic to explore, though? I mean, I’ll have to narrow it down…” Sam squinted a bit, trying to judge whether or not Castiel was just humoring him or was actually accepting the topic. Cas smiled and nodded.

 

“You have plenty of time yet. Start researching and see if anything in particular grabs your attention, and you can always come talk to me if you encounter any difficulties.”

 

“Great, thanks! I’ll let you know when I come up with something solid.” Sam shuffled his feet a little. “I, um, I wanted to say I’m really enjoying your class. It’s not anywhere near my major, but you make it really interesting and relevant. It’s great so far.”

 

“I appreciate you saying so, Sam.”

 

“Well, I’ve taken a couple of other art classes, but this is the first one where I feel like— well, I don’t feel like you’re talking down to the students, you know? It’s like we’re having a conversation. And it’s pretty clear that you know what you’re talking about and that you love your subject. It’s nice.”

 

Castiel reddened slightly. “Thank you. Was that all you needed, Sam?”

 

“Yeah, it was. Thanks again, Prof— uh, Castiel. See you on Thursday.” Sam smiled again, turning to leave the classroom, his mind already on the research he’d need to do to get his topic narrowed down. As he opened the door, he gave Castiel a little wave. His professor looked bemused, but gave him a nod in return. Nice guy, Sam thought, as he looked at his watch and hurried to his next class.

  
  
  


***

 

[ ](https://flic.kr/p/r8fbes)

 

[Post-It chain left on color printout of Edlund Gospel taped above carrel]

Was this guy drunk or something when he drew this?

 

_Please show some respect for the Edlund Gospels._

 

[arrow pointing] I'm just saying, that angel on the left has bedhead or something.

 

[another arrow] And why’s this angel have a lollipop?

 

_Many scholars disagree over what the object in the marginalia is meant to represent. Analysis is ongoing._

 

No, it's cool. Solved it. Lollipop. You can publish and name me co-author.

 

The bedhead one’s eyes are really blue. Like, really, really blue.

 

_The artist used ultramarine. Made by grinding up a mineral called lapis lazuli, imported at great cost from the Middle East. The term ultramarine comes from its origins, the Latin 'ultramarinus' meaning 'overseas."_

 

Did you just lecture at me? You totally just lectured at me. In a note.

 

_I apologise, I have had ~~too many~~ ~~over~~ many hours of grading this week._

 

Dude, no. It's  ~~cute~~  cool.

  
  


***

  
  


The only thing worse, Dean decided, than spending your Friday night doing homework in your room was being caught spending your Friday night doing homework in your room by your nerdy little (overgrown) brother. “Dammit, Sammy, you heard of knocking?”

“Sorry, man, I thought you were out! Did you snag my headphones again?” Sam loomed in the doorway, looking like he’d either just come back or was about to head out somewhere. He glanced around the room, then more closely at Dean where he sat on the bed. “Are you studying? On a Friday? Wait, let me get a picture.” Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket, grinning. “Or maybe a thermometer.”

Dean threw a pillow at him with the unerring accuracy of an elder sibling. “Dude, seriously. I’m stupid busy this semester, okay? Gotta get this done before Monday, and I’ve got shifts most of the weekend.”

“Yeah, I get it. You’re turning into me.“

Dean rolled his eyes. “Not as long as I still know what a haircut is.”

Sam chucked the pillow back at him, missing by a mile. It skidded across a pile of papers at Dean’s knee, sending them flying.

“Hey, watch it!” Dean said, frantically grabbing at the papers as they wafted back towards the ground.

“Oh, shit, sorry, Dean!” Sam took a step forward, reaching out to help collect the papers nearest him on the floor.

“No, no, it’s cool, I’ve got this,” Dean said, trying for nonchalant as he grabbed at the papers near Sam. “I have a system.”

“Wait, this isn’t your handwriting, is it? Not unless you’ve suddenly developed your joined-up writing skills.” Sam frowned down at the note in his hand. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said, holding the note up and away from Dean when he tried to snatch it away. “‘I rarely partied as an undergraduate’? Who writes like this? Are you writing notes to someone, Dean? Like, a pen pal?”

“He isn’t a frickin’ pen pal. He’s some weird nerdy dude at the carrel next to mine.”

“So you’re just passing notes back and forth in the library like grade-schoolers? That’s hilarious.” Sam squinted at the note again. “I can barely read this handwriting. Is he a med student?”

“One, I have never actually met the guy, he’s got some weird-ass schedule, hence the notes, and two, his handwriting is totally legible, he studies art or angels or some shit, and what’s with the third degree?”

Sam put his hands up defensively, note still between his fingers. “No third degree! It just took me by surprise, is all. You haven’t met him? Weird.” Sam handed the slip of paper back to Dean with a shrug. “You should get coffee together or something. Maybe he’s hot.”

Dean turned away from Sam to place the note back with the others in the newly re-created pile. “It ain’t like that. We’re friends. You’ve heard of those, right?”  

“Yeah, okay, Dean.” Sam grinned. “I think I might have some heart stickers somewhere if you want to put one on the box you keep those notes in.”

“I thought you used them all up on your humanities TA.”

Sam laughed. “Only the sparkly ones. You can use the scratch-n-sniff ones that smell like strawberries.”

“Get ones that smell like pie and then we’ll fucking talk,” Dean said, then tossed a pair of headphones at his brother, hitting him in the center of the chest. “Now get out of here, I actually need to get my damn work done.”

“All right, Dean, leaving you to your miserable existence now. See you later.” Sam gave a little wave as he backed out, closing the door behind him.

Little brothers, man. At least he hadn’t been jerking off when he’d been interrupted. Though that sounded a damn sight more fun than what he was actually doing.

Dean turned his music on as loud as he could without the neighbors complaining (since Sammy had his headphones) and got back to work.

 

***

 

 

Siblings?

 

 

_One older sister, two older brothers. Yourself?_

 

 

 

One younger brother.

 

 

_Pets?_

 

 

 

One younger brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late (BUT STILL ON SCHEDULE) posting update, Chapter Three's images were a great deal more complicated than those of the first two chapters.
> 
> (For a larger version of the manuscript notes, click on the embedded picture or go to https://flic.kr/p/r8fbes)
> 
> The base image for the Edlund Gospels was borrowed from the Getty Apocalypse Manuscript (c. 13th century England)


	4. Chapter 4

Gabe was late. Again. Cas looked at his pocketwatch for the fourth time, although there was a perfectly serviceable clock hanging from the wall just inside the library doors. It had only been ten minutes, and he’d been speaking with a few students after class, so it wasn’t a huge hardship. He sighed, frustrated; he was a person who thought it best to be early for everything, so having a cousin who was always late, sometimes very late, and occasionally really, spectacularly late could be painful. Castiel put his bag down with another sigh. He didn’t need to stand here holding it if Gabe wasn’t about to appear. And of course, as soon as the bag hit the pavement, Gabe appeared as if summoned. He was only a little out of breath as he jogged up to Castiel with a grin.

 

“Can’t believe you’re meeting me here, Cassie-poo. I’m going to have to buy Sweet Paradise a pretty new espresso maker if she finds out I’m seeing another cafe.”

 

“I’m sure she would find that acceptable. As would Charlie.” Castiel grabbed his bag again and pulled the door open, motioning politely for Gabriel to precede him. Gabe tipped an imaginary hat and strolled through the door. “And I don’t have time to head off campus this afternoon.”

 

“Man, I can’t remember the last time I was here,” Gabe said, looking around. “Totally different of course, that was like ten years ago.” He shook his head sadly at the formica countertop and grubby stainless steel of the library cafe. “My shop is hanging her head in shame for me right now. Why do you come here again?”

 

Castiel reddened slightly. “This cafe is very close to my study carrel.”

 

Gabe looked at him speculatively, then his eyes widened. “Oho, Cassie, you dog! There’s somebody here you’re into, isn’t there?”

 

“Find us a seat, I’ll purchase the drinks.” Cas looked away, trying not to draw Gabriel’s attention to Verdigris Eyes, looking glorious in his green apron behind the counter, laughing at something one of the other baristas had said. Gabriel immediately turned around and scanned the counter, then turned back to Cas with a smirk and a lifted eyebrow.

 

“I’ll have something sweet, you know what I like. And you, I see, would like to order that Grande Americano behind the counter.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Does he have a brother? Does he come in Venti?”

 

“I have no idea,” Castiel said helplessly, sagging a little in his trenchcoat. “I’m not even sure of his name. The staff’s use of nametags is inconsistent, and I don’t wish to appear as though I am stalking him.”  He turned from Gabriel to make his way through the moderately busy cafe to the counter to place their orders. Bringing Gabriel here had likely been a tactical error on his part, but he could at least prevent him from interacting directly with his crush.

 

“Give him a kiss for me, cuz!” Gabriel yelled after him. Cas didn’t turn around, but he could feel his ears burning with humiliation. There was no possibility that Verdigris Eyes had heard Gabriel over the clamor in the library lobby, but he was doubly convinced of his wisdom in keeping Gabriel away from the counter.

 

“I’d like a medium latte and a large salted caramel mocha.” He glanced at the dessert case before adding, “and a snickerdoodle.”

 

“Hey, Clarence, how you doin’ today? Medium latte and a large salted caramel mocha latte.” Meg scribbled the name on the sides of two empty cups.

 

“I am well, thanks.” Cas tried to keep his attention focused on her, smiling slightly, instead of craning his neck like a Mannerist painting to see if Verdigris Eyes was pulling coffees.

 

“And a snickerdoodle. You got it. Need a receipt, sweet thing?” she asked as she smoothly swiped his card.

 

“Yes, please. Thank you, Meg.” Castiel took the receipt and card and smiled again, more genuinely this time. He positioned himself near the pick up area, giving himself an uninterrupted line of sight on Verdigris Eyes.

 

“Hey, tone down the eye lasers a bit there, Superman,” Verdigris Eyes said, but he was smiling as he said it. Smiling at Cas. Whatever he actually said was irrelevant in the face of that simple fact. “Yours is the latte and the caramel mocha?”

 

“Yes,” Cas managed.

 

“Syrup and sprinkles on the mocha?”

 

“As many as you can reasonably fit, my cousin has quite the sweet tooth,” Cas said, fighting the urge to add undue emphasis to the word ‘cousin.‘ He had no issues with being assumed to be gay, especially as in his case it wasn’t an incorrect assumption, but right now he’d hate to be assumed to be anything other than ‘entirely available, especially to attractive baristas with lovely eyes.’

 

“Can do, angel.”

 

“I don’t understand the reference.”

 

“The angel Clarence?”

 

Cas was perplexed. "To my knowledge there isn't an angel named Clarence."

 

Verdigris Eyes chuckled. Castiel noticed that his eyes crinkled adorably at the corners.  "Man, you need a cultural education. _It's a Wonderful Life_? Jimmy Stewart? No?"

 

Cas just looked blankly back at him; it was as if he were speaking an unfamiliar language. Verdigris Eyes shook his head and sighed. "It's a classic. Go watch it. In the meantime, here're your drinks. Complete with appropriate artwork." He smiled again, and Cas couldn't help but smile back.

 

He tried to school his features back to some semblance of neutrality before he reached their table, but from the smirk his cousin gave him, he had apparently not entirely succeeded.

 

“So can I be best man?” Gabe drawled, grinning up at Castiel and making come-hither motions at his mocha. “On second thought, if his mocha tastes as good as he looks, I might steal him out from under your nose, Cassie-baby.”

 

“He is not mine to steal,” Cas said, stiffly. “But if you attempt to harass him in any way I’ll tell Charlie exactly where you actually were during the ‘family emergency’ which just happened to coincide with your annual inventory.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, below the belt there, Cuz!” Gabriel raised his hands in mock surrender before picking up his coffee from where Castiel had set it. He popped off the lid and took a cautious sip. His eyebrows went up in surprise. “Wow, it’s actually good! Your boy can make ‘em, Cassie. Hmm, I wonder if I could steal him away for myself.” Gabriel took another, deeper sip of his coffee, sighing in satisfaction and sprawling lower in his chair. A glance at Castiel had him upright again. “Wait, what — no no, for the cafe, Cas, damn, turn down the smite eyes! He’s all yours, buttercup.” Gabe smirked at him again.

 

Cas relaxed into his own chair, smiling slightly at Gabe and at his own foolish reaction to Gabe’s teasing. He pulled the lid carefully off his own coffee and stared down at the tiny angel drawn delicately in the foam of his drink.

 

“Whatcha got there, Cassie?” Gabe leaned forward when he noticed Cas hadn’t moved. The eyebrows went up again and he chuckled gleefully. “Ooooh, looks like someone’s got a mutual admiration society goin’ on!” He subsided back in his chair again, still chuckling, as the color rose in Castiel’s cheeks. “Seems as if you might not need my intervention after all, cuz. Must be those pretty blue eyes.”

 

It did not occur to him until much, much later that Verdigris Eyes thought his name was Clarence.

 

***

 

_I cohabit with a cat named Pellinore._

 

 

Better than Lucifer.

 

 

_That’s my cousin._

 

 

Seriously?

 

 

_No._

 

 

Well played.

 

 

So were you born on a Thursday?

 

 

_You looked up my name?_

 

  


It’s kind of unusual. Not bad, just different.

 

 

_Yours means “law” in Hebrew or “valley” in Old English._

  


 

You are such a Ravenclaw.

 

 

_So I have been informed. What would that make you?_

  


 

Hufflepuff all the way.

 

***

 

It wasn't... a THING, the notes. They were just, y'know, fun. A bright spot in his day, and it wasn't a big deal that he saved them, it was just... polite. It was like saving Christmas Cards, which he didn't do but some people did so clearly it was okay if he saved the notes. Even if he was starting to get increasingly weirded out by the way he never saw Cas.

 

And besides, he never noticed his notes in the trash closest to their desks, not that he went through the trash, that would be weird, but maybe it meant that Cas saved them too? So yeah, totally not weird or girly, since they were both dudes.

 

But given how random his hours were, you'd think they'd have run into each other by now, right? Instead of this stupid _The Lake House_ bullshit (which was a movie he only knew about because his ex Lisa had wanted to watch it, for the record).

 

Maybe dude was so fugly he only came out of the stacks at night? Except that usually WAS when Dean was there, what with his weirdass work schedule.

 

...but what he and the mysterious Cas had was... was nice. Was sometimes flirty and sometimes stupid, but honest, in a way. 'Cause Bobby'd kick his ass for saying it, and Sammy'd just make that fucking face at him, but sometimes he still felt like he wasn’t supposed to be here, like everyone who's ever looked at him cross-eyed in undergrad or grad was right. And it was stupid, 'cause he fucking KNEW he earned it, paid in blood, sweat, and grease, in nights spent studying DiffEQs while Sammy worked on English essays. But he still had dreams where he imagined getting called into Dr. Adler's office and being told that KU has no place for a former high school dropout in its Engineering Department and hey, we heard McDonald's is hiring. And Cas knew exactly none of that shit, just knew Dean’s an asshole in ME who left him stupid flirty notes. And it was weird, being flirty (and he doesn’t know how Cas swung, but the notes were at least a little flirty, Dean fuckin’ knew from flirty) sight unseen. Meant Dean couldn’t just flutter his lashes or lean in just right. He's gotta bring his A game and use his words, and he kinda liked the challenge.

 

Which left him here, sneaking off during his shift break to see if there were any new notes on his carrel. And maybe possibly see if for once Cas was at his.

 

He practically sprinted up the steps to the fourth floor, since he only had fifteen minutes and the speed of the elevators was inversely proportional to how much you needed them to go the hell faster.

 

Dodged around a cluster of undergrads, waved a middle finger at Chuck, who was face down at the desk so he didn’t see it but it was the principle of the thing, and… #353 was empty. Which, uhm… was a thing. That happened. All the time, and was not in any way a big deal, because why should right now be different from all the other times he went to his carrel? Exactly.

 

Anyway, he had about five minutes, which was just long enough to jimmy the drawer open. Thank god for locked juvie records.

 

***

  


  


Look in your drawer.

  
  


 

[in drawer is a shrink-wrapped chocolate chip cookie and two notes: one with CHUCK written on it and the other with NOT-CHUCK]

  


  


[chuck note] Chuck I swear to god if you’re the one reading this and you touch the cookie I will take whatever graphic novel you’re reading right now and shove it so far up your ass your grandparents will be coughing up newsprint and meta-textual analysis. -Dean-

 

[not-chuck note] Hope you like chocolate chip. -D

  


  


_Thank you for the cookie. I do enjoy chocolate chip, and the cafe downstairs has excellent baked goods. -C_

  


  


They’re okay. I could bake better but don’t really have time right now, because grad school. When I was freaking out before the GREs, my brother claims he gained ten pounds.

  
  


 

_However, I am curious as to how you got into my locked drawer._

  


  


Combination of a misspent youth and these knockoff IKEA drawers being textbook examples of how not to engineer furniture.

  
  


  


_Criminal and baking skill sets? I was unaware I was carrell neighbors with Martha Stewart._

  


  
  
You made a joke. I’m so proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to make a latte art angel? Of course you do! <http://www.esquire.my/Style/Manual/article/How-to-Make-a-Latte-Art-Angel>
> 
> Next Saturday marks Pi Day! We're hoping to do a little something extra for it, along with our usual update.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean had the cup all ready; it was in his hand, the marker still drying on the waxed cardboard surface. He looked around a little sheepishly; no one was looking at him, but he felt self-conscious anyway. Normally he wouldn’t be this nervous, reluctant, or hesitant to give someone his number — hell, he’d leaned across the counter yelling the digits out more than once. He flirted, winked, grinned and teased with the best of them. This time, though — this was...different. It was both more important than other times, and less, somehow. He bit his lip indecisively, sticking the cup up on top of the coffee machine where it wouldn’t be as obvious.

 

Too late. Meg rolled her eyes as she walked past. “Just give him your number, you idiot. I’m tired of watching you have eye sex.” She smacked Dean on the back of the head. “You’re an adult. Gird those loins and get out there.”

 

“It’s not that simple!” Dean hissed, his eyes darting to where Ruby and Alfie had just come out of the back room.

 

“Pfft,” Meg snorted. “So make it simple. You do math, right? Lowest common denominator. Or golden mean. Or whatever, you know I can’t add for shit. Just go with your gut.”

 

Dean chewed on his lip again as he leaned onto the counter, looking out over the students milling in the lobby. And of course, this had to be the moment that Clarence came strolling out of the crowd, looking even more preoccupied than usual. Dean wanted to smooth the little frown out from between those brows with his thumb.

 

But...there was Cas. They’d finally graduated to real flirting, and Dean was amazed that he could feel that stomach drop, that flutter of anticipation, when he didn’t even know what the guy looked like. Dean knew he grinned like an idiot every time he found a new note on his desk, and he took more time and care over a one-liner to Castiel than he did over most papers. So what was it? He felt something, sure, but did Cas? And were they ever actually going to meet each other in person? He really, really wanted to. He felt a familiar twist inside, and smiled to himself. Okay, then. There was something. Was it enough?

 

“Yeah, you’re right, Meg,” he sighed finally, pushing off from the counter and tossing the cup into the recycling bin. “The gut says not today.”

 

Meg looked at him, bemused. “Wow, Winchester. You’re losing it. And Alfie owes me a latte.”

 

***

 

In the Catholic Liturgical calendar, today was the Feast of the Guardian Angels. Of course, that was in the more modern Gregorian calendar; in the Julian calendar this would actually be the Feast Day of Teresa of Avila, none of which was actually important right now but he supposed it was slightly more auspicious than today being, say, the Feast Day of Saint Simeon Stylites or Saint Sebastian and if he kept fingering the piece of paper with his number written on it that was currently taking up a disproportionate amount of mental space in his waistcoat pocket it was going to end up looking like someone’s used receipt and not like an earnest attempt to finally ask out the handsome man from the library cafe.

 

He’d block printed his name instead of writing it in his usual cursive, in case his handwriting might prove difficult to read. Then he’d worried he would come across as too fussy, and did he want his first action towards what he hoped might be a relationship to begin by changing something about himself, and had then disposed of the printed version and rewritten it in his usual script with extra care towards clarity, which made it look a bit like a wedding place card, but if he’d printed it out it would have looked like one of the tear away flyers around campus.

 

Cas wasn’t sure of the logistics of actually handing his ‘digits’ to Verdigris Eyes. If he were working as the cashier, Castiel could hand his note over with his cash, but that ran the risk of the it ending up unnoticed in the register to be found later. If, however, his… crush… was actually preparing the drinks, as was more common, there were fewer opportunities to covertly deliver the note to him.

 

And he did want covert. He already felt as though it was borderline inappropriate to approach someone at their place of employment; the least he could do was give the man the opportunity to politely consider whether or not to contact him in his own time.

 

And then there was Dean. Who was his… friend. Whose notes were sweet and friendly and teasing. Who had picked his lock to leave him a cookie. Who he felt unexpectedly close to, given that they’d never met.

 

When he left the cafe with his drink, the note was still in his pocket.

  
  


***

  
  


  
  
  


So how’d you end up studying Medieval Art?

  
  
  


  
  


_My family is Catholic, and my parents travel a great deal for work. They would often take us along to expose us to culture. I believe I was the only one who legitimately enjoyed the visits to castles and cathedrals. I spent so much time in Notre Dame in Paris I think they believed I was going to become a priest._

  
  


  
  


Father Cas. Guessing that didn’t happen.

  
  
  


  
  


_I was deeply moved, but aesthetically, not spiritually. And then of course it turned out I was gay, so perhaps it was for the best. What about yourself? How did you end up in Engineering?_

__  
  
  


  
  


Nothing that interesting. My dad had this car -- I have her now -- She’s beautiful, 1967 Chevy Impala, black. And it was a thing we’d do together, mess around under the hood. And then I spent a summer or two working on old junkers. Realized I liked figuring out how things worked.

  
  


***

  
  


Sam cracked the bedroom door open and peeked in. The room was still dark, all the curtains and shades pulled, but in the sliver of light from the hallway Sam could just make out Dean’s shape on the rumpled bed. Dean lay on his side toward the edge of the bed, one hand draped over and dangling toward the bucket that sat there. He looked sweaty and pale, and Sam winced in sympathy.

 

Moving as lightly as he could, Sam tiptoed over to his brother. He just wanted to do something — it wasn’t often that Sam felt this helpless, and he wanted to care for Dean like Dean had done so often for him, growing up.

 

Sam sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, placing the glass of water and tablets he’d brought with him on Dean’s bedside table. He reached toward Dean; he didn’t know whether he should touch his brother, whether it would wake him up or if he’d even be able to tell if Dean had a fever. As his palm hovered over Dean’s forehead, not quite touching, Dean’s arm whipped up off the bed, making Sam jump and smacking his arm away at the same time.

 

“Qui’ it, S’mmy,” Dean mumbled into his pillow. “M’fine. G’way, don’ wan’ you gettin’ sick.”

 

Sam grimaced. “I brought you some water and some ibuprofen.”

 

Dean cracked a bleary eye open and glared. “Thanks. Now go ‘way.” He shuddered as another chill hit him, and Sam sighed, pulling the blankets further up onto Dean’s shoulders.

 

“I don’t mind, Dean. If I’m gonna get it, I’m gonna get it. And right now, I’m getting you the rice bag.” He rose, using Dean’s hip as a fulcrum to lever himself up off the bed, savoring Dean’s irritated grunt. “I’ll be right back; don’t go anywhere. And take the ibuprofen.”

 

Sam stuck the rice heat therapy bag in the microwave and hit the minute button twice. Getting Dean to accept a little care from him was like pulling teeth, only less fun. He watched as the little cotton bag covered in multicolored cats spun around, a gift from Jo that Dean needed to be almost incapacitated to use without bitching about. Whatever; it wasn’t like Dean could get away from him at this point. Sam waited for the microwave to ding, then pulled the hot bag out and juggled it from hand to hand as he walked back to Dean’s room.

 

“Here you go, jerk. I hope you feel better in the morning.” Sam lifted the blanket and shoved the rice bag under Dean’s feet. He could practically feel Dean relax as the heat hit him, and grinned at the muffled “Bitch” that came from under the covers. Sam was glad to see that the ibuprofen was gone along with some of the water; he backed out of the room and closed the door with a quiet “Good night, Dean.”

 

***

 

"Sam the rabbits stole m' muffler 'gain!"

 

If you mapped out how much of a pain in the ass Dean was when he was sick, it would be a sort of parabolic arc shape. Healthy Dean was fine, and too-sick-to-move/in-some-sort-of-coma Dean was also pretty straightforward to deal with. It was during the in-between stages that Dean was truly a pain in the ass.

 

Sam was glad, really and truly, that a night’s rest and various over the counter remedies had left Dean less of a plague victim. Unfortunately, it also meant he was way closer to the high point of the arc.

 

“Sammmmeeeeee….. ‘m missin’ classes…  wanna choc'lit pizza with oatmeal pie sauce...”

 

“And I’ve already contacted your department head like you asked me to,” Sam said, deciding to concentrate on the first part of the sentence.

 

“Fuckinnnnnn’ Adler alrea’y has it out f’r me,” Dean said, turning and burying his head in the pillow. He then mumbled what was either a private speculation about his department head’s extracurricular activities involving barnyard animals or part of a recipe for meatloaf.

 

If Dean wouldn’t have killed him for doing it, this would have gotten a ton of hits on YouTube. Especially since the Nyquil-and-illness induced haze meant about half of Dean’s comments were utterly nonsensical. ("Why'djoo havta go recycle my lava, Sammeeeeeee...")

 

Dean lifted his head from the pillow just enough that Sam could see a drool strand stretching between his mouth and the bedding. “Cassss…. ” he muttered, followed by another string of muttering. “‘s gonna think… f’r’got…”

 

Okay, that… sort of made sense?

 

“‘s nice. Th’ notes. Loops an’ loops,” Dean said, finger outstretched and moving in circles, trying to demonstrate… something… while his head remained half buried in the pillow. “‘s pretty notes. Pretty Cas. Gon’ worry.” He repeated the syllables, this time as a question. “Gon’ worree? F’rrrgot t’ write Cas. Dinnnn’t.”

 

Okay, not really. Dean on Nyquil was funny but impossible to understand. Was he actually trying to communicate something? “What, Lassie? Timmy’s in the well?”

 

“B’tch. Tell Cas ‘m fine. Caaas-TEA-elllll. ‘cause he’s hot.”

 

Wait a minute. Sam thought furiously, remembering Dean’s scattered mentions of his “carrel neighbor,” who'd gone from being "that weird dude in the next carrel" to ...something else... over the course of the semester. Sam put together what Dean had told him, about the guy’s major and interests and his sometimes funny language, and now, NOW suddenly everything slotted neatly into place and he felt like an idiot for not having worked it out sooner. Sam whooped with startled laughter, then slapped his hand over his mouth, not wanting to piss Dean off.

 

“Yeah, okay, Dean.” He grinned down at his brother, who was still drooling onto his pillow. “I’ll tell him.”

 

***

 

  
  


[Notes are crumpled, discarded.]

 

_Dean, are you well? Chuck tells me he hasn’t seen you recently._

_Your books have not been touched in days._

_Is everything alright?_

_You haven’t replied to me in days._

_I wish I had some way to_

_I’m worried about you._

_Dean, I_

__  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of that Dean Winchesteriest of Holidays, Pi(e) Day, here is your posted-at-the-stroke-of-midnight chapter update! For more Destiel and Pi Day goodness, you can also check out the fic Winter wrote in honor of Pi Day last year, [Full Circle.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1318435)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

It was ridiculous to be distracted by something as minor as not having a new note from his carrel neighbor, Cas reminded himself, shoving his laptop back in his messenger bag. Especially if it interfered with his teaching duties. Thankfully, he was now finally done with the day’s classes and could wallow in privacy with his cat.

 

“Hey, Prof… Castiel. Um, do you have a minute?”

 

Cas looked up to see Sam Winchester smile a little shyly behind his floppy brown hair.

 

“Of course, Sam. How can I be of assistance?” Sam was one of his favorite students, attentive and involved in the class.

 

“Uh. Okay. This may sound a little weird, but, do you have a carrel in the library?” Sam’s forehead wrinkled a little more.

 

“The art history library? No, I do not,” Cas said, confused.

 

Sam looked relieved, which confused Cas further. “No, I meant Watson. On the fourth floor?” Sam’s expression was both apologetic and eager.

 

“Yes. Why?”

 

“Oh, thank god!” exclaimed Sam. “I mean, there was no way it was anybody but you, but Dean’s been a complete idiot, plus he’s delirious, and he’s awful to be around when he’s sick, but he’s mentioned you a couple of times and I figured it couldn’t hurt—”

 

“Wait, Dean? You said Dean.” Sam knew Dean? Sam knew he knew Dean? How did Sam know Dean, and how did he know to talk to him about knowing Dean?  

 

“Oh, yeah, sorry! Dean’s my brother.” Sam looked at him expectantly.

 

“Your… brother. Is Dean. The Dean who has the carrel next to mine and who is your brother.” And of course the Dean he’d been exchanging notes with had a life, had a… physical reality outside of the notes, but this was the first time he’d been so directly confronted with the sense of Dean as a person with his own… “He’s sick?”

 

“Yeah, he’s got the flu. Pretty nasty, too.”  Sam grinned, then looked stricken. “But don’t tell him I told you! He didn’t want me to bug you or anything, but I figured since he’d said a couple of times that he was sorry he wasn’t answering your notes that you might be happy to hear that he’s okay, just home in bed.” Sam pushed a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “Sorry, I’m babbling. I just… he’s usually the one taking care of me, you know?” He gave an apologetic shrug.

 

Cas ran a hand through his already messy hair, a nervous habit he’d never managed to break himself of. “I am very sorry to hear that he’s unwell. Are you… forgive me, are you done with your classes for the day?”

 

Sam nodded, looking a little puzzled. “Yeah, I was just about to head home to see how Dean was doing. Why?”

 

Cas shoved the rest of his teaching materials into his messenger bag, indifferent to the now jumbled pens and bent papers. “Can you…” he said, then stopped, considering his words carefully. What he was about to ask verged on the inappropriate, but this was for Dean. “Would you be willing to wait here for approximately thirty minutes?”

 

Sam now looked a little stunned. “Uh, maybe? Why?”

 

“I’d like to get something.” Seeing that Sam still looked confused, Cas added, “For Dean. For you to give to Dean. If you’d be willing to wait, I’ll return as quickly as I can.”

 

“Uhhh…. yeah,” Sam said, brow furrowed slightly. “Sure. I can… sit here and catch up on my reading. Always have... plenty of reading.”

 

Before Sam had finished agreeing, Cas was out the door.

 

He made it back in twenty six minutes, though from the look on Sam’s face as he re-entered the empty classroom, he might have been better served taking the extra few seconds to try and look a bit less wild-eyed and windblown. Ah well. Certainly getting this to Sam within the allotted time frame was more important.

 

“Here,” he said, holding out a brown paper bag. “It’s Tom Kar soup. From Thai Siam. It’s very good if you’re ill. And he’s likely dehydrated.”

 

“How did you--”  Sam’s mouth hung open a little.

 

“Scooter. Very maneuverable.”

 

“So...you went and got...soup. For Dean. Because he’s sick.” Sam leaned back in the chair where he’d sprawled with his book. He looked at Cas assessingly for a moment, eyes wide, then chuckled and shook his head. “Castiel, that was really...sweet. I’ll be sure to tell Dean you’re thinking of him.”

 

Cas could feel himself blushing. “Please tell him I hope he recovers soon.” Sam just grinned again, hazel eyes alight with mirth, and took the paper bag that Cas held out to him.

 

“Sure thing, Castiel. Thanks for looking out for my big brother.” Sam grabbed his own bookbag and gave Cas a last wave as he loped out of the room.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


  
  


Hey, thanks for the soup. Sammy told me you rushed out and got it when you found out I was sick. Sorry about that. ~~I didn’t mean to worry you~~

  
  
  


  
  


_It was in no way a bother. I’m glad to hear it was helpful._

  
  
  


  
  


So, you’re Sam’s teacher? I mean, obviously. Small world, huh? He’s a good kid.

  
  
  


  
  


_And there we saw the giants-- which came of the giants; and we were in our own sight as grasshoppers, and so we were in their sight. -- Numbers 13.33_

  
  
  


  
  


I had to look that up, but—  you just used the Bible to make a joke about my brother’s height? Well played, dude, you are officially a bigger geek than he is.

  
  
  


  
  


_Do you consider that a negative attribute?_

  
  
  


  
  


Nah, you’re alright Cas.

  
  
  
  


 

_While I don’t believe discussing my students is generally appropriate, I will say that Sam is an excellent student with an incisive mind, and a pleasure to have in my class. You must be very proud of him._

  
  
  


  
  


Yeah, I’m proud of him. Sam’s a big dork but he’ll be a big shot lawyer some day.

  
  


***

  
  
  


  
  
  


So I still feel like shit for leaving you hanging when I was sick, I know I’d’ve been worried if I didn’t hear from you for a week or whatever. My number’s 866-907-3235. -Dean

  
  


***

  
  
  


  
  


_I have no idea how you accomplished it, but I must admit that I am impressed._

  
  


  
  


Hey, M.E. Grad here, they don’t just keep me around for my pretty face.

  
  
  


  
  


_Even so, the construction of a medieval church using my reference books is an impressive feat. Though I’m sure you are very attractive._

  
  
  


  
  


The only tricky part was the arches. Anyway, congrats! Sam told me your abstract got into a conference.

  
  


***

  
[phone texts]

[Cas]: Hello, Dean. This is Castiel.

[Dean]: hey cas :)

 

***

 

“You should come to class with me,” Sam said, as though Dean hadn’t heard him the first half dozen times he’d suggested it.

 

“Pretty sure you don’t still need me to hold your hand and walk you to class, Sammy.”

 

“No, you should come to class with me. And meet Castiel. See what he does.”

 

“I know what he does, he studies Medieval comic books. He’s got piles of it all over his carrel. Besides, I have shit to do today.”

 

“Wait, don’t you want to meet him?”

 

Dean very determinedly began washing the small pile of dishes in the sink. “It’d be weird to just show up.”

 

“I think you guys passed the weird stage sometime before he ran out and got you soup because he heard you were sick.”

 

“He was bein’ nice, lawyer-boy,” Dean said, turning to flick Sam with soapy water.

 

“He bolted out of the room like he was being chased by demons, and came back in twenty minutes later looking like he’d just fought his way out of Hell. To bring you Tom Kar.”

 

Dean reddened and turned back towards the sink.

 

“Hair half sticking up and half flattened, shirt partially untucked, tie loose and backwards…”

 

“Shut UP, Sam.”

 

“This is embarrassing. I am embarrassed on your behalf.”

 

Dean reached over to flick more soapy water at Sam. “Yeah, well _you’re_ embarrassing.”

 

Sam shook his head, then glanced at the clock, “Shit, what I am is late. Gotta run.”

  
  


***

 

  
  


  
  


_Dean-- While I have never met you in person, I know that your brother is physically attractive, and as you share his genetics it is likely that you are similarly physically appealing. However, and far more importantly, I know from our correspondence that you are also intelligent, clever, hard-working, creative, thoughtful, have a sense of humor, and care deeply for your family. These are all highly attractive traits._

_Castiel_

  
  
  


  
  


Dude, you have the weirdest damn way of flirting of anyone I’ve ever met.

  
  
  
  


 

_Is it effective?_

  
  
  
  


  
  


Hell yes.

  
  


****

 

Castiel’s TA office was a room slightly larger than a closet, located within the Art History office next to the department coffeemaker and mini fridge. Lurking outside, Sam could hear Castiel talking to another student, who seemed frantic about her upcoming final paper; Castiel was trying to calm her down, with moderate success. When she finally left the room, red-faced and flustered, Sam moved forward.

 

“Hey, Castiel, how’s it going?” Sam smiled what he hoped was an easy smile, pulling out the dimples.

 

Castiel looked up, startled. “Oh, hello, Sam. I didn’t realize you were waiting.”

 

“No, I wasn’t really, I just got here a minute ago.” He leaned against the doorjamb and stuck his hands in his pockets. Completely nonthreatening.

 

“What can I help you with? Is your final paper progressing well?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I’m almost done. Thanks for the help with the references; that really made it all come together.” Sam smiled again. This was beginning to get awkward. He really didn’t want it to be awkward. He thought frantically of a way to bring up what he wanted to bring up without being totally obvious. “So, um.”

 

Castiel waited, as straight and still as one of his church carvings.

 

“I just...I wanted to thank you again for getting that soup for Dean. He really enjoyed it. Well, as much as he could enjoy anything with the flu. It was the first thing he could keep down in days. And wow, that may have been TMI.” Sam winced.

 

There was a pause as Castiel seemed to consider his response. “I’m glad it was helpful. Your brother is feeling better?”

 

Sam grinned in relief. “Yeah, absolutely! Back to his old self. I don’t know if he told you, but we’re going to our aunt’s for Thanksgiving, and he’s bringing all the desserts for it, as usual. It’s gonna be great.”

 

Castiel smiled, a small soft smile Sam had never seen in class. Wow, and he’d thought Dean had it bad. “Dean seems like a very thoughtful individual.” His teacher then reddened slightly, as though embarrassed at being caught out.

 

“Well, he’s an awesome big brother, that’s for sure.” Sam stood there. He almost expected Castiel to ask him more about Dean, could see the interest there, but he wondered if Castiel would take that step.

 

“Yes, well… if there’s nothing else, Sam, I should get going, Inias will need this space shortly.”

 

“All right, Cas, I’ll see you next week. Thanks again.” Sam smiled and turned to leave, hiding his eyeroll and sighing quietly to himself. Okay, these dorks were totally gone on each other, and they didn’t even know. He wanted to play matchmaker, but he was reluctant to do so while Castiel was still his teacher, in case that was in any way a conflict of interest. If they contacted each other and met on their own? Sure, that was their business. But he couldn’t in good conscience shove their stupid faces together while Castiel still had to give him a final grade.

 

As Sam walked toward the library, an idea came to him, and a slightly evil smile crossed his face. Hmm, that plan just might work. He’d at least keep it in reserve, in case they hadn’t gotten themselves sorted out by the end of the semester, now only a few weeks away.

 

Once final grades were in, though, the gloves were coming off.

  
  


***

  
  


[phone texts]

[Dean]: going anywhere for thanksgiving?

[Cas]: I’ll be remaining on campus.

[Dean]: ah cool.

[Dean]: i’m lucky, family’s local so we don’t have far to go.

[Dean]: you’ve got someone to eat with though right?

[Cas]: My cousin lives nearby. He enjoys cooking.

[Dean]: :)

[Dean]: glad to hear you won’t be alone

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers 13.33 is sometimes translated (depending on your copy of the Bible) to 'nephilim' (the offspring of angels and humans) instead of 'giants.' But c'mon, it's Sam. How could we resist? 
> 
> Dean's cell number is the one given on SPN episode 1.04 Phantom Traveler.
> 
> The technique Cas uses to fold his letter to Dean can be found here (http://fuckyeahbookarts.tumblr.com/post/19678308729/pensandenvelopes-out-of-envelopes-no-problem) and is really nifty.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean paused for a moment after entering Sweet Paradise. “Did the door just play Bolero?”

“Oh, hey, it’s the Grande Americano! What can I do you for tonight, good sir? Last chance to pick up some Thanksgiving goodness before the holiday bites you on the ass!” The shortish, blondish guy behind the counter waggled his eyebrows and gestured expansively around the small store. “We’ve got it all, from apfelstrudel to zabaglione. Pick your Turkey Day poison.”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure why he was being called some kind of Starbucks drink by a man he’d never seen before, but that wasn’t important right now. He was a man on a mission. “Pie. I need pie.”

“A man who knows what he wants. How refreshing. Well, sweet cheeks, we’ve run out of pumpkin chai cream, but everything else is in stock and ready for you to take back to your kitchen to pretend to all your relatives that you made it yourself instead of buying it from me at the last minute.” The man indicated the available pie choices, printed neatly on a large chalkboard to Dean’s left.

All the choices, even the weird ones, looked mouthwatering, and Dean let out a small noise that was definitely too manly to be a whimper. “They’ll know they ain’t mine, they know what my baking tastes like.” He stared at the wall of pie options, contemplating the infinite mysteries of the fillings. “But I’ve been too damn busy to bake, and I’m not showing up empty handed. Or with some grocery store crap.”

“A fine decision, my friend. Excellent priorities. I can tell your heart is definitely in the right place. May I ask what pie you usually bake for the holidays, yourself?” The guy’s eyes twinkled impishly as he leaned against the back of the pie case. If he’d had a mustache Dean was pretty sure he’d’ve twirled it.

“Uh, I usually do at least two pumpkin, two apple, a sweet potato, a pecan, and some kind of a chocolate silk thing for my brother.” Dean palmed the back of his neck. “But obviously none of that is happening, and, uh, well.” He looked over at the guy’s eyebrows, which had climbed so far up his forehead they were merging with his slightly-receding hairline. “We’re smaller this year, so. Maybe three pies? Eh, four. To be safe.”

“Okay.” Suddenly the smaller man was all business, coming briskly around to the front of the case and crossing his arms, one finger under his chin. “Classic choices, then. Hmm. Let’s get the chocolate out of the way first. I’ve got this Bavarian chocolate mousse pie that’s unbelievable. You’ve gotta take that one. Then, we’ve got the two traditional apples, one with custard and a streusel top, and one with Cortlands and a lattice. You got a preference?”

Dean shrugged. “Pie is like sex. Some is better than others, but as long as you get a slice, you’re good.”

The guy snorted a laugh. “One ice-cream-topped orgy, coming up. I’d go with the classics and get the lattice-top apple. Okay, then, pumpkin, sweet potato, or possibly my new favorite, the Red Kuri-Maple squash pie? Made with real Vermont maple syrup and real Kansas-grown Red Kuri squash. Crust made with hand-ground Canada white wheat and salted with the tears of baby angels. Seriously, this has got to be the best pie I’ve ever made.”

“Haven’t sold any yet, huh.”

“Not a one.”

Dean sidled over to the counter and leaned in. “Got a sample?”

The grin the guy shot him was somewhere between devilish and predatory. “Do I have a sample. Prepare to have your stylish yet affordable boots rocked, mister.”

“Man after my own heart.”

Fifteen minutes and half a dozen pie samples later, Dean didn’t bother to contain his moan. “I take back what I said. This is way better than sex. You are a pie genius, dude.”

The little guy made a choking noise. “Thanks,” he managed to grind out, then took a couple of deep breaths and managed a weak smile. “Always good to have my artistry appreciated. That last one is my cousin Cassie’s favorite. A sucker for anything with a banana.”

“Yeah, so’s my brother.” Dean thought for a moment. “Though look, to be totally honest… you gotta try my apple. Yours is solid, but…”

“OH MY GODS, SMACKDOWN. You get back here after the semester’s over with your pie recipe, young man, and I will teach you the ways of the righteous.” The guy’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do not disappoint me.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Dean agreed. “Meantime, hook me up with a chocolate mousse, one of the custard apple, a pumpkin, and that maple-squash you’re pushing.”

“You bet, Freckles. I’ll set you up with some boxes and then I’ll check you out.” He leered and waggled his eyebrows again as he disappeared into the back room.

***

[MasterBaker]: guess who was just @ sp

[Cassie-poo]: Who?

[MasterBaker]: ur grande americano

[MasterBaker]: show up @ library covered in pie and ur in there

[MasterBaker]: keep him he bakes

[Cassie-poo]: Did you get his name?

[MasterBaker]: no lol got distracted

[MasterBaker]: NOT LIKE THAT DOWN BOY

[MasterBaker]: hes a moaner tho fyi

[Cassie-poo]: Gabriel Novak what have you done

[MasterBaker]: told u he REALLY likes pie

 

***

[Cas]: I hope you are having an enjoyable Thanksgiving.

[Dean]: gobble gobble!

[Cas]: ?

[Dean]: happy turkey day! you in a food coma yet?

[Cas]: Yes.

[Cas]: I may have to be rolled back into the library.

[Cas]: My cousin does not know the meaning of the word overkill.

[Dean]: good thing i know all about building ramps

[Dean]: and trebuchets

[Dean]: phone keeps trying to correct it to three buckets

[Dean]: its like it doesn’t know about medieval siege warfare or something

[Cas]: You never cease to surprise me.

[Dean]: :)

***

Castiel had planned to spend Black Friday sleeping in until at least ten, eating a breakfast composed of leftovers from the day before, and then working on some grading he’d fallen behind on. Instead, he was woken up slightly before nine am by his ringtone.

"Are you dressed? Are you decent? Are you comfy and yet do not have your junk hanging out because we are not those kind of friends? Then you're good, get out here, you're getting picked up and we're going back to my place."

"Charlie, I have work to do today." Castiel tucked his phone closer to his ear, trying to find the bottle of maple syrup in back of the several takeout containers Gabriel had left in his refrigerator earlier in the week.

“No, nope, nuh-uh, no way. You are not working today, I am, praise be to Uhura, actually not working; instead, you are coming with me to my cozy yet spacious apartment, where there is an actual, working wide-screen television and several comfortable pieces of furniture, and watching all the essential holiday pop culture that you have somehow missed out on in your twenty-odd years upon this earth while eating leftovers in our pajamas, because with great pop culture knowledge comes great responsibility, young Padawan.”

Cas could hear the jingle of keys and the unmistakable creak-and-slam of the door of Charlie’s 1979 Pinto in the background. “But—”

Charlie’s aggrieved sigh interrupted his protest. “Castiel Novak, it is the day after Thanksgiving. There is no possible way you can avoid spending it with me. Just give in, get your coat on, and meet me downstairs in twenty. I’ll bring dooooonuuuuuts!” The teasing sing-song made Cas smile.

“Very well. Will you make sure there is at least one plain cruller, please?”

A snort. “As if I’d forget. I’ll get you a Boston Cream, too, so you don’t steal mine again, you pastry-thieving Medievalist.”

“And coffee?”

“Large caramel mocha? You got it, babe. And I want you on that sidewalk when I drive up, or I’ll tell Mrs. Donato you’ve been stealing her paper again.”

Cas didn’t bother getting dressed, instead throwing on shoes and his trenchcoat over the old NU shirt and pajama bottoms he’d slept in. He preferred sleeping nude, but the heating in his apartment strongly discouraged such inclinations during the colder months.

He slid into the seat next to Charlie, knocking various odds and ends into the wheel well as he did so.

She handed him a covered cup of coffee once he’d secured his seat belt. “It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark... and we're wearing sunglasses.”

Cas looked at her, confused. “With the possible exception of the gas tank, none of those things are true.”

“Well, we are definitely watching _Blues Brothers_ at some point. Today, however, we will be watching an array of holiday favorites guaranteed to make you laugh, cry, and possibly vomit. Selections include _A Christmas Story, Home Alone, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Love Actually, How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ , the animated Chuck Jones version and not that Jim Carrey travesty, _White Christmas, Elf,_ and _Miracle on 34th Street._ Possibly also _Christmas in Connecticut_ if we have enough time. Barbara Stanwyck is badass.”

“Is… would _It’s a Wonderful Life_ be considered a holiday movie as well?”

Charlie looked over at him with something like pity in her eyes. “Oh, my poor sweet baby child. Let Auntie Charlie fix the absolutely enormous chasm that is your complete lack of cultural references.” Being around Charlie often made Cas feel like a freshman who’d accidentally wandered into a graduate level seminar on Pop Culture Studies and was now expected to contribute meaningfully to the class discussions.

She grabbed her iPhone. “And to get us in the holiday mood, we’re going to listen to _Santa Claus and the Six to Eight Black Men_ on the way.”

***

Approximately six hours later, Cas was sprawled inelegantly over more than half of Charlie’s supremely comfortable couch, a mostly-empty bowl of kettle corn balanced on his stomach. Charlie had her feet on the couch and the rest of her body contorted into a strange pretzel-shape on her beanbag chair. They were watching the tail end of _A Christmas Story_ , for which Cas was humiliatingly grateful — another fifteen minutes of this inane drivel, and he’d be walking home.

As the credits finally rolled, Charlie grunted and stretched, upsetting the bag of Cheez Doodles perched on her chair. “Well, that was fun!” she said brightly. Castiel rolled his eyes. Charlie narrowed hers, pointing a finger made slightly less threatening by its orange cheesy coating. “Listen, buster, you’d better appreciate this forced cultural mainlining or I’ll take away couch rights. Got it?”

“It was… informative.”

“So, one more movie to go. Any requests? We’ve got _Home Alone, Frosty the Snowman_ —”

“Perhaps _It’s A Wonderful Life_?” If the other movies are anything like the last one, he wasn’t sure he was going to make it through Charlie’s fifty-plus-years-of-pop-culture-in-one-day holiday marathon. Thus, best to prioritize.

“Hmm, yes, I wondered when you were gonna bring that up again. What’s so special about that particular movie?” Charlie’s eyes twinkled with something like glee. She pulled a case from behind the beanbag with an exaggerated gesture, presenting it to Castiel with a flourish. It was the DVD of _It’s A Wonderful Life_. “Never fear, sweetcheeks, got your back. Now spill.” She sat up on her chair like an overgrown chipmunk, all bright inquisitive eyes.

“There is a coffee shop I patronize on campus. The workers there have dubbed me Clarence. I’m told it has something to do with the movie in question.”

“‘The Workers,’ huh? Any ‘worker’ in particular I should know about?” Charlie grinned as she knelt to switch dvds in the player.

Cas tilted his head in confusion. “Why does everyone assume that if I mention any human contact it must be ‘that sort’ of human contact?”

“Dude, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it. I can smell a crush on you from a mile away. You’ve got all the regulation signs: averting your eyes, slight blush on your cheeks and ooh, a bit on your neck, there, a little bit of finger-drumming, and the kicker: bottom-lip-biting! You are totally gone, son. Now.” Charlie resettled herself in her chair, gimlet eyes on Cas’ face. “You will tell all.”

Cas shrugged. “There’s little to tell. One of the workers is an attractive man with distinctive green eyes. I enjoy watching him work.”

“Whoa, creeper much?” Charlie raised a dubious eyebrow. “You ever talk to the man, or do you just make moony eyes from a distance like Gabriel says?”

“We interact in a purely professional capacity.”

“Okay, so, what? You order coffee, he makes it, that’s it?”

“He draws little feathers and angels in the foam. He says it’s because Clarence is an angel.”

Charlie bounced up and down a little in excitement. “He’s totally into you! So, have digits been exchanged between parties? Have you called him? Texted him? Sent up smoke signals? Carrier pigeon? Anything? Bueller?”

“I was prepared to give him my contact information. But I... refrained.”

Charlie flailed upright, an indignant frown on her face. “What the actual, Castiel?! He is obviously hot for your bod, so what’s with the refraining?”

Cas sighed. “It felt disloyal.”

“Wait. Whoa. What?” Charlie’s hands flew out in front of her in wordless command. “Okay, back up, buttercup. Disloyal to whom or what?”

“I have been corresponding with…” Cas paused, trying to think how to best explain Dean. “I have been exchanging notes with another graduate student.”

“Notes? Like, in class?” Charlie squinted at him. “Isn’t that juvenile even for a cousin of Gabe?”

“You will not breathe a word of this to Gabe.”

Charlie looked a little offended, but then the expression cleared and she quickly shook her head. “No, ‘course not. Of course that just makes me want to hear it more, because this has gotta be JUICY.”

“We have adjoining carrels in the library. I’ve never actually met him, but we’ve been corresponding in notes since the beginning of the semester.” Cas added, with a hint of pride, “His name is Dean, and he is majoring in Mechanical Engineering.”

Charlie looked at him. “Castiel, did you actually just say you’ve never met him? Do I have to warn you like a den mother? How do you know he’s legit?”

“His younger brother is one of my students, a fact which we only recently discovered. And I looked him up on the university’s website, and there is a Dean Winchester listed as a graduate student in the ME department here. Besides,” Cas pulled out his phone and held it out to her, “look. I doubt that anyone would go to this much trouble just to trick me. I am still astonished anyone went to this much trouble for any reason.”

Charlie’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped comically. “DUDE!! HE did that for YOU? He is SO much more into you than coffee guy.” She whistled as she swiped at the screen to zoom in on different aspects of the towering edifice of books, which had its own photo album. “Okay, so not only is this dude completely head over heels for you, he’s just as much of a dork as you are.” She handed his phone back with a brilliant smile. “Good call not giving coffee guy your number, no matter how many eyefuckings he’s tried to give you. Stick with the nerdling every time.” She fell back into her beanbag, grabbing for the remote. “I don’t care if he’s Quasimodo; you’d better get on that boy like Godzilla on Tokyo or I swear by my pretty floral bonnet I will end you.”

“I have every intention of approaching Dean romantically at some point in the future. I… believe him to be interested. Almost certainly. Probably. I’m reasonably certain we’re flirting.”

“C’mon, Cas, anyone who’d build you the damn Tower of London or whatever out of books? He’s definitely interested. In more than friendship. Quite possibly in seeing you naked sometime in the near future, even.” Charlie grinned mischievously. “Do you know if he’s gay? Or bi? Or just Cas-sexual?”

“He hasn’t mentioned, but he knows I am.”

“And he’s still flirting. So at minimum Cas-sexual. You’re so in there.” She paused for a moment, and her grin got bigger. “And that’s all from your awkward little notes. He’s going to shit himself when he actually sees what a hottie you are in person. Twenty bucks says he drops something. Or spills something. On himself. God, it’s gonna be such a shoujo anime.” She waved her hand around. “Rose petals, everywhere.”

Cas squirmed slightly under her gaze, uncomfortable with the idea of such an event being a… spectacle. The thought of finally, actually meeting Dean released a complicated cocktail of emotions that left him feeling warm, nervous, and more than a little excited at the idea. He did want to meet Dean, he realised. To meet him, and see what happened next. What would happen next.

He did not, however, feel any especial need to tell Charlie that.

He settled back into the couch cushions. “I would still like to know about the Angel Clarence.”

****  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters' views on holiday films or pies do not necessarily represent those of the authors.
> 
> 'Santa Claus and the Six to Eight Black Men' is a story from David Sedaris' _The Santaland Diaries._
> 
> We'll both be at 221BCon in Atlanta in two weeks, should any of you happen to be Sherlock fans.


	8. Chapter 8

As Dean looped his apron around his neck, Meg came through the doorway from the back room, stopped, and gave a low whistle. “Boy, sweetcheeks, you look like hell chewed you up and spit you out again. How you feelin’?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Meg, appreciate the compliment. Better than last week, at least.” He skirted past her to check out the espresso machine.

“Figured you were near death when Alastair said you weren’t coming in.” Meg leaned a hip against the counter and crossed her arms. “You sure you’re okay to be here?”

Raising an eyebrow, Dean turned to look at her. “Caring, Meg? Are you actually showing weakness right now? Do I detect a tiny bit of humanity creeping through?”

Meg snorted and smacked him on the arm as she walked by. “Just making sure you’re not gonna pass out in the caramel syrup, dollface. It’s been bad enough having to clean up after Alfie while you weren’t here.”

“Don’t tell me he was dropping people’s orders again.”

“Only once this time. He almost got your angel the other day, but he managed a quick save.”

“He’s not my angel,” Dean said automatically. “Wait, what?”

Meg smirked. “Didn’t see much of Clarence last week at all. He looked pretty frazzled the one time I did see him. Of course, that may have been because he almost had hot coffee down his pants, but whatever.” She turned and sashayed down the counter to the register.

“Wait, _what_?”

Meg smiled sweetly at the customer waiting, took the order, then turned to Dean. “Medium mocha latte, cinnamon, extra whip. Alfie tried to put a halo on his latte but it ended up looking like a penis.”

Dean ignored the customer’s horrified face and pulled the latte, working on autopilot, trying to glare the smirk off of Meg’s face. “ _Why did he try to do that_?!” he hissed. “What _is_ it with you people? Are you _trying_ to scare him away?”

Meg shrugged. “Just lookin’ out for you while you were gone, lambchop.”

Dean handed the latte over to the customer, who backed away slowly. “Yeah, well, less lookin’ out for me and more _not spilling coffee_ on my— on _customers_ , okay?”

Alfie popped his head out of the back room. “I didn’t spill it!” he yelled. Dean heard a giggle, and Alfie disappeared again.

****  
  


***

Sam put down his pen, rubbed his eyes and sighed. A glance at the clock showed him forty-five minutes left in the two-hour exam block — better than he’d hoped. He had a little extra time to study for his next exam after all. He stuffed his pen into his messenger bag and grabbed it off the floor, squeezing out of his seat and down the row of students toward the front of the room.

Castiel looked up from his reading and smiled. “All finished, Sam?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied with an answering grin. “Glad I did that extra reading on medieval stained glass. Sainte Chapelle is my favorite.”

Castiel looked pleased. “It’s mine as well.”

“So…” Sam said. “When exactly will you have the grades in? Not trying to rush you or anything, just curious.”

“They’ll need to be in by next Wednesday.” Castiel tilted his head slightly. “Are you worried about your grades, Sam? Because I can tell you that aside from your final, your work in this class…”

Sam shook his head, still smiling. “Nah, not really, just it’s my final semester in the spring and I have to clear my scholarships and everything. If grades have to be in Wednesday then they’ll probably post them by Friday, so I’ll know about financial aid and stuff by the following week.”

Castiel smiled back. “I’m sure you’ll do well. You’ve been a pleasure to have in the class, Sam.”

“Kinda would like to see my final paper, though.”

“As it says on the syllabus, you can pick it up as well as your test grades during my final office hours on Tuesday.”

“Well, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you now. Um, I’ve got work-study during your office hours. Is there a way you could meet me? Maybe at the Library Cafe, sometime when you’re gonna be there anyway? That way I could pick up my paper and I could get the people I know who work at the Cafe to get us free lattes.” Sam managed to pull off a lethal puppy-eyes-and-dimples combo that would have given Lucifer himself pause.

Castiel didn’t stand a chance. “It’s slightly irregular, but so long as it’s after the grades are turned in I suppose that would be acceptable. Are you free next Thursday around five?”

“Yeah, I think so. Can I email you to confirm later on today? Just gotta, um, check my schedule.”

“Of course.”

“Cool. Thanks, Castiel. It’s been a great class. I really enjoyed it.” Sam stuck out his hand and Castiel took it with another small smile.

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate your enthusiasm, especially since Art History is not your major.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be in touch. See you soon, Castiel!”

“Good-bye, Sam.”

****  
  


***

****  
  


[Sammy]: Want to go out to celebrate semester being over?

[Sammy): Burgers. Beer. My treat.

[Dean]: you’re on. when?

[Sammy): Can you do Thurs?

[Dean]: cafe until 7. after?

[Sammy): Perfect.

****  
  


***

 

From: winchesters@my.ku.edu

To: novakca@my.ku.edu

Subject: Re. HA 250 Final Paper Grade

Hey Castiel,

Thursday at 5 pm would be perfect. I can meet you at the Library Cafe then if it’s still convenient. Coffee is my treat. :)

Thanks,

Sam Winchester

****  
  


***

****  
  


From: novakca@my.ku.edu

To: winchesters@my.ku.edu

Subject: Reply: Re. HA 250 Final Paper Grade

Sam,

I look forward to seeing you Thursday at 5, then. Good luck with the remainder of your final exams.

Best,

Castiel Novak

***

“...and then I talk to the department secretary, and that assclown had apparently just _forgotten to mention_ the grant deadline to me. I wouldn’t even know it existed if I hadn’t overheard him telling Gordon about it, encouraging that little kiss-ass to apply,” Dean said, slamming the stack of paper cups onto the counter.

****  
  


“But you’ve still got time, right? The deadline’s not til next Friday?” Meg chewed on her bottom lip as she finished filling the last of the cream containers. “I can help, and I bet Ruby will, too. Gotta use our Humanities degrees for something once in a while.”

“Yeah, I just…” Dean sighed. “I’m not asking for special treatment, but being treated like something that asshole scraped off his fancy Italian leather shoes is really exhausting. And then he goes out of his way to make it harder for me. Especially after I missed that fucking week with the flu.”

“I think we can all agree that Adler is a great big bag of dicks. We’ll get our revenge by getting you that grant, dammit.” Meg bumped shoulders with him softly. “Don’t worry, handsome, we’ve got your back, so long as it means you’re still working here.” She grinned a supremely cocky grin and sashayed back to the register. “And are still gonna pick up some of my shifts over break.”

“Oh, like Alastair would let me quit,” Dean called after her. “No one gets out of here alive once they’ve learned the secrets of the espresso machines.”

Ruby snorted as she emerged from the back room with a tray of streusel-topped muffins. “Yeah, we’re all lifers here. At least classes are over and it’ll be less crazy for a few weeks. Anyone doing anything good to celebrate?”

“There’s a bottle of Patron with my name on it.” Meg just smirked at the slightly disapproving look leveled her way by the customer she was serving. “I may even share.”

“There’s an undergrad with Ruby’s name on him, at least, assuming he hasn’t scrubbed the Sharpie off yet.” Dean got a punch in the arm for his trouble, and he rubbed the spot, trying to look wounded through his laughter. Ruby just punched him again and rolled her eyes, grabbing a protesting Alfie by the wrist and dragging him back through the doorway he’d just poked his head through.

“Sammy’s taking me out for beer and burgers tonight, too,” Dean continued, looking happier. “He’s a good kid. Straight A’s this semester.”

“Awww, a real-life bromance. How sweet.” Meg’s smile turned sly as she moved to fill the next order. “Now that’s a tall, cool drink of water. Remember to let me know if he gets an itch I might be able to scratch.”

“Yeah, well, he’s more like a gargantuan hot mess at the moment, and, um, let’s just say that if your itchy little fingers get near my brother, I’ll personally make sure you won’t even be scratching your own ass for a long, long time.” Dean smiled pleasantly.

“Cool it there, hoss,” Meg fanned her face. “I can smell the testosterone from over here.”

Dean crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, older brother prerogative.”

“Uh, Dean, not to interrupt your chest-thumping or anything…”

“Eh?”

Meg raised an eyebrow and tilted her head toward the entrance. “Speak of the devil.”

Sam waved at the counter, and Dean gave a quick wave back. “Huh. Wonder what he’s doing here this early. It’s not even five yet.”

****  
  


***

****  
  


Sam was jittery. Scheduling this had been the easy part; with all the extra shifts Dean had been trying to pick up at the cafe before break he’d been practically living there anyway. He jogged up the steps to the Library Cafe with something like trepidation; he didn’t want Dean to get suspicious, but it was in Dean’s nature to be suspicious when Sam’s behavior didn’t mesh with what he thought Sam _should_ be up to. Sam’d have to go say hi, at least, get a coffee, tell Dean...somehow...that he was here to meet someone. What the hell was he gonna say that wouldn’t ping Dean’s radar? He lifted a hand when he saw Meg’s raised eyebrow and Dean’s surprised face. Loins internally girded, check.

“Hey, Dean, Meg, how’s it going?” Sam hoped his smile didn’t look as manic as it felt, but Dean only looked mildly surprised, and Meg just twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger and smirked.

“What’re you doin’ here, Sam? Thought we weren’t going out til seven.”

“Uh, I gotta meet someone from class. Figured this place was as good as any.” Sam shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and only managing to feel stiff and awkward. Dean and Meg didn’t seem to notice.

“Oooh, little brother, meeting a _friend_?” Dean grinned and poked Meg with his elbow.  “Coffee date, with an out in case something goes wrong? That’s my boy.”

Sam knew his cheeks were getting red; thank god Dean was totally getting the wrong idea. “Uh, yeah, something like that, but, you know, not really. At all.” He palmed the back of his neck nervously, a gesture he’d totally picked up from Dean, dammit. “Should be here soon. Can I get, uh, a large caramel macchiato with extra whip, and a medium caramel mocha?”

Dean winked at him. “Sure thing, Sammy. I’ll even put ‘em on your tab, and bring ‘em over to the table for you.”

Sam inwardly rejoiced in his completely unintentional and hitherto unacknowledged matchmaking prowess. “Sure, uh, that’d be great, Dean. Thanks.” He backed away awkwardly, giving Meg a little stilted wave, at which she rolled her eyes, then gave him an air-kiss and turned back to her register.

He chose a table that was right between the Library entrance and the cafe counter and sat with his back to the door, hoping that Dean would be busy enough with his order for a couple of minutes that he’d miss Castiel coming in. It was 4:59, and Castiel was nothing if not punctual.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Sam heard the big glass door swing open, and he turned to watch as Castiel strode in. It only took him a moment to find Sam, and he walked over quickly, pulling out a chair on the opposite side of the table. With his back to the Library Cafe. Yes. Sam gave an internal and entirely childish fist pump.

“Hello, Sam. It’s nice to see you outside of class.”

“Yeah, same here, Castiel. I ordered us some coffee, hope you don’t mind.” Sam crossed his fingers under the table, wishing with all his might that Dean would be completely oblivious and just bring the coffee like it was a normal, everyday thing.

Cas looked pleased. “Thank you, Sam, that was thoughtful of you.” He swung his bag up onto the table and opened it. “I have your final paper right here.”

Sam tried not to bite his fingernails. He saw Dean approach the counter with a coffee in each hand, and Meg lift the pass-through for him. He saw Dean falter a little as he caught sight of Sam, almost missing a step, then square his jaw and keep coming.

_Shit shit shit here it comes_ , Sam had time enough to think, before —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to punch us in person? Come say hi at 221BCon in Atlanta this upcoming weekend. We will be updating even though we will be at the con because we're reasonably certain we'd be hunted down and killed otherwise.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos are the wind beneath our wings.


	9. Chapter 9

Cas had been pleasantly surprised by Sam’s insistence on meeting after the conclusion of their student/teacher relationship. Sam had proven himself to be clever and hard working, and while it may have been needlessly optimistic of Castiel, he hoped that perhaps now that Sam was no longer his student he might become a friend.

And if that did happen, and he happened to (finally) run into Sam’s older brother, as was likely to happen at some point, as they were clearly quite close… well, as a grad student Castiel was a great believer in the value of multitasking. Especially now that all of his grading was finally completed and submitted.

Winter break felt luxurious. He could catch up on his reading. Rewatch _Cadfael_ or catch up on _Game of Thrones_. Play with Pellinore. Become a guinea pig once again for some of Gabriel’s more adventurous baking forays. Forgo shaving the entire time until he resembled an ornamental hermit. (Though not showering; he knew his own limits.) Secretly move into the library and stake out the carrells until he finally saw the mysterious inhabitant of #352.

Perhaps even plan a visit with some new friends?

He arrived at the library just before five. Sam was already there, waiting. “Hello, Sam. It’s nice to see you outside of class.”

“Yeah, same here, Castiel. I ordered us some coffee, hope you don’t mind.”

It was kind of Sam, even if it inadvertently robbed Cas of his chance to see if Verdigris Eyes was working today.  “Thank you, Sam, that was thoughtful of you.” He smiled down at Sam, swinging his bag up onto the table. “I have your final paper right here.”

He pulled it out of Sam’s class folder and placed it on the table in front of Sam, turning it so that Sam could see the grade in the upper right hand corner. He’d passed with flying colors, of course. Sam, however, wasn’t looking at the paper at all; instead, his attention was focused intently somewhere over Cas’ left shoulder. Cas, curious, turned to look—

...and shit shit fuck _merde **sard**_ Verdigris Eyes was right there, at their table, setting down their drinks. Cas could feel the blood pounding in his ears.

“Here you go, Sammy.” He set Sam’s cup carefully on the table in front of him, then turned to face Cas. “...and here’s yours, Clarence.”

Verdigris Eyes clearly knew Sam, there was both recognition and affection in his voice as he’d said his name. And of course it wasn’t as though Cas would be the only patron that the barista would know, or remember, he wasn’t vain enough to think… except that he was, and had been, and he was distracted enough by the odd twist in his stomach that he didn’t immediately notice his former student’s look of confusion as his eyes darted between them.

“Clarence?” said Sam hesitatingly. “I don’t, um. Okay, so, uh, I’ve been wanting you two to meet. Castiel, this is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Castiel, my TA. Wait, do you guys _know_ each other already? Aaaaand you’re totally not listening to me any more, are you.”

Cas was suddenly glad he was sitting, as his internal organs felt uncannily similar to the way they had the time Gabriel had dragged him on a roller coaster, and he wasn’t at all sure he could feel his legs. “ _Dean_?”

“ _Castiel_?” The voice was a little huskier than it had been a moment ago.

He stood, gripping the back of the chair to steady himself. “ _You’re_ Dean? Sam’s… the carrell… the notes… You’re _Dean_. My Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“And you’re… m— ... _Cas_?”

“Dean,” Cas said, now not as a question but a statement of some deeper truth. He felt his face twist into a smile so wide it would likely leave his cheeks sore as he was finally able to really _look_ at Dean, not surreptitious glances stolen while waiting for coffee, but as though he could drink Dean himself in with his eyes. Had he ever been able to properly see all of the freckles lightly dotting his face? The shades of brown in his hair, or the strong line of his jaw? And he knew, now, that this beautiful shell contained an even more gorgeous soul. He unthinkingly moved half a step closer, because Dean’s eyes contained multitudes, and he was too much of a scholar to not want to learn them all.

***

Dean finished topping up the whipped cream on Sam’s beastly concoction and fitted the (oversized) lid on, stuck in a straw, then grabbed the other cup, made and waiting. He walked toward the pass-through in the counter.

“Hey, Meg, get the counter for me, wouldja?” He bumped her teasingly with his hip as he brushed by.

“Oooh, looks like your bro’s hot date is here. Uh-oh, might be a little hotter than Sammy realized.”

Dean was too busy navigating through the pass-through to pay close attention to what Meg was saying, but as soon as he caught sight of those shoulders in the familiar trenchcoat, that unmistakable bedhead, he nearly stopped in his tracks. What the…? Okay, this was totally unexpected, but damned if he wasn’t gonna find out what was going on.

Dean approached the table with a firm step and what he hoped was a firm smile, not a grimace. He put Sam’s cup down first, precisely. “Here you go, Sammy.” Then he turned back, looking down at Hot Coffee Guy, wondering what was up and hoping Sam’s ‘ _not really_ ’ was the truth. “...and here’s yours, Clarence.”

Huge blue eyes looked up at him. He’d never been this close before, and he almost staggered from the force of that direct gaze. Dean’s heart was pounding so hard he nearly didn’t register what Sammy was saying.

“Clarence?” said Sam’s distant voice. “I don’t, um. Okay, so, uh, I’ve been wanting you two to meet. Castiel, this is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Castiel, my TA. Wait, do you guys _know_ each other already? Aaaaand you’re totally not listening to me any more, are you.”

“ _Dean_?”  Oh my god, his name on those lips, in that voice, with that look. And this was...

“... _Castiel_?” His voice came out roughly from his suddenly-dry throat.

Clarence — no, wait, _Castiel_ — rose, his knuckles white on the back of his chair.  “ _You’re_ Dean? Sam’s… the carrell… the notes…You’re _Dean_. My Dean. Dean Winchester.”

Dean felt himself shiver and flush at that possessive tone. God, he was a goner. “And you’re… m— ... _Cas_?” He nearly bit his tongue at his slip, but wow. He knew he must look like an idiot, standing there staring at the guy, but damn. And he couldn’t help the grin that started to shape his lips.

“Dean,” Cas said, all deep confidence, and smiled back, wide and delighted. Oh, yeah. Definitely gone. Dean had thought the guy was gorgeous just from the shy smiles he’d got from across the counter, but this? This was like staring into the fucking _sun_. And his _voice_ , holy hell, and being this close to him was making him notice all sorts of things — like how Cas’ hair stood up in every direction like he’d been running his hands through it, and how he had the lightest trace of stubble on his cheeks, and how his eyes were just the most beautiful shade of blue in the whole goddamn world. And suddenly, those eyes moved closer, and Dean’s breath caught, because here they were, meeting at last, and this was really, really happening.

***

Sam watched with a mix of amusement and horror. And yeah, okay, a little satisfaction, too. And it had only taken months of Machiavellian machinations to get them here! He wasn’t planning on sticking around for the inevitable denouement (read: face-sucking), but he didn’t want to leave without saying ‘bye to Dean and Castiel, and he wasn’t about to get in the middle of that. Sam wondered if he could get away with pounding his head gently on the table. He settled for the more subtle facepalm, resting his cheek on his hand and propping himself up on his elbow. Thank god his hands were big enough that his eyes were covered; he didn’t think he’d be able to unsee that, ever. And yeah, it was partly on him, but if he’d realized — if he’d even had an _inkling_ that these two had been pining for each other in two separate directions? He would have given them both a shove sooner, conflict of interest be damned. Because this was something no younger brother should have to be party to.

He finally peered through his fingers at the two of them. They were just standing there, grinning idiotically at each other. This was ridiculous. He had to leave. He cleared his throat, loudly.

“Dean?” His brother made a movement like he might have heard something in the distance but was distracted by some change in Cas’ face, and the movement subsided. Sam hadn’t seen it happen, but they were holding hands now. Both hands. He cleared his throat again, _really_ loudly this time.

“AHEM. DEAN.”

“Huh? Wha?” Dean turned a little, frowning, and Sam waved a giant paw at him.

“Dean, I’m gonna take off, okay? I’ll see you...when I see you.” Sam tried to grin encouragingly at his brother, but he’d already turned back to Castiel. A massive eyeroll would have to suffice. Sam sighed, shook his head, and grabbed his final paper (graded A, he was pleased to note) to stuff in his bag. He looked around at the library lobby, nearly deserted at the end of finals’ week, and noticed Meg looking over from the Cafe with a bemused expression.  He decided to be magnanimous and do his big brother yet another favor.

“Hey,” he said, approaching the counter. “Pretty dead in here today, huh.”

“Yeah,” drawled Meg, “except for the Harlequin romance playing out before my very eyes. Dean finally get his head out of his ass and talk to Clarence, then?”

“Uh, yeah. His name’s Castiel, though, and he’s my Art History TA. He and Dean have been trading notes all semester in their carrells upstairs, but I guess they kind of knew each other before.”

Meg nodded. “Oh yeah, he’s been coming in here on the regular since the semester started. Always gets the same order, always looks like he wants to order it with a side of Dean.” She chuckled. “Not that Dean’s been any better. You should see the little foam drawings.”

“Oh, god, no,” Sam groaned, “I’ve seen enough for today, thanks. I’m gonna need eye bleach as it is, or maybe some insulin for my incipient diabetes.”

Meg’s smile curled slyly. “Or shots. I’ve got a bottle of Patron I need to kill. Interested?”

Sam straightened hurriedly. “No, sorry, I actually have more work to do. Maybe, ah, another time.” He hitched his messenger bag up a little on his shoulder. “Um, so, I wouldn’t expect Dean to be coming back to work anytime today. Just, you know, if you need to call for coverage or whatever.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine, handsome, you can run along now.” She flapped her hand at him, shooing him away. “I’ll just amuse myself writing bad dialogue for those two.”

“Thanks, Meg. See ya!” Sam waved and made his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so that finally happened. Hopefully it's living up to your expectations! And remember, we're still at 9/15 chapters so there is more to come.
> 
> Hi from 221BCon! We're both really enjoying the chance to yell at each other in person for a change instead of just over chat. It's terrifying to realise we were actually working on this fic at last year's con.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to PorcupineGirl. She knows why.
> 
> And thank you all, again, for reading and subscribing and Kudosing and commenting. It really means the world to us that people are enjoying this.


	10. Chapter 10

Somewhere, in the tiny part of Cas’ consciousness that was for some unfathomable reason not fully consumed with his ongoing consideration of Dean Winchester, he heard Sam leaving the cafe.

 

It was just enough to make him realise that while he was unsure of exactly what was going to happen next (though he had a number of very creative ideas) he had no interest in being in the library cafe for it. Whatever happened next was _private_. And not, he argued with the Gabriel voice that had appeared in his head, because he was in any way wedded to the notion of it involving nudity or orgasms. Obviously that was a possibility, but he just… didn’t want to share this, or Dean, with anyone else right now.

 

“We should… private?”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah. That.”

 

“Mine? Yours?”

 

“Sammy.”

 

“Mine. Car?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Job?”

 

“Fuck,” Dean said, breaking eye contact for the first time since they’d been properly introduced. “Thirty seconds. Don’t move,” he said, practically growling the last part, as though there’d been any chance of Castiel doing anything but standing there like a sculpture while he waited, feeling that voice like a warm hand run up and down his spine.

 

Cas actually did move, though, throwing his papers into his bag and readying himself to leave immediately upon Dean’s return. His drink, forgotten and now likely room temperature, was dumped unceremoniously in the nearest trash can. He felt a touch guilty about the waste, but he was already jittery with far more nervous energy than any mix of caffeine and sugar was likely to accomplish, and did not trust himself to manage anything as complex as drinking from a cup right now. It seemed unduly complicated.

 

Dean returned and they wordlessly made their way from the library to the parking lot. Cas could feel the warmth radiating from the body next to him, and while neither would quite commit to holding hands, their fingers and arms continued to brush against each other as they walked quickly side by side. He kept glancing over at Dean, feeling like Orpheus trying to make sure Eurydice was still with him, but there he was, solid and _real_ and six feet of everything Cas had ever wanted.

 

His knuckles brushed against Dean’s once more and he suddenly felt his hand grabbed, his fingers interlaced firmly with Dean’s. Cas turned towards Dean, who was staring rather determinedly forward. Cas returned his gaze to the path, the red in his cheeks not entirely from the chill in the winter air.

 

***

 

Dean’s car, a black behemoth of a vehicle, was a smooth ride uninterrupted by any speech beyond Cas’ muttered directions back to his apartment. Their hands, though, stretched across the divide between their seats to once again grip each other tight. Dean drove easily with one hand, and Castiel couldn’t keep his eyes off Dean’s face. The smiles they exchanged whenever Dean glanced his way — which was often — sent little jolts zinging up and down Castiel’s spine and warmed his cheeks with what he was certain must be a blush.

 

They found a spot not far from Castiel’s building and Dean pulled over, the engine’s rumble quieting as he turned the key. Cas fumbled for a moment at the unfamiliar door latch but then Dean was there, easing the door open, and Cas smiled up at him as he closed the car door again with a satisfying thunk. Cas grabbed Dean’s hand, motioning with a tilt of his head toward his apartment, and Dean grinned back and followed.

 

They went silently up the flight of stairs to Cas’ second-floor place. Cas dropped Dean’s hand to find his keys, fumbling slightly as he unlocked the door and held it wide for Dean to enter.

 

Cas unwrapped his scarf, shrugged off his trenchcoat, and kicked off his shoes, carefully hanging Dean’s coat over his on the single door hook. The atmosphere felt tense, charged with the million things they weren’t saying, the eye contact they were intermittently making, and the physical distance between them.

 

He cleared a pile of books off the couch, enough to create room for them both to sit down.

 

Dean sat next to him, and they both began talking at once. “Dean, I---” “Dude, I didn’t think---”

 

They stopped. And stared at each other. Cas knew at some point it had gone on longer than was socially acceptable, but he couldn’t imagine not wanting to look at Dean, and besides, he was allowed to now. Probably. And it seemed that Dean felt the same, if the way he was returning Cas’ gaze was anything to go by.

 

Cas felt the smile start on his lips again. “Maybe this would be less awkward if I just wrote something on a Post-it and stuck it to your forehead.”

 

Dean let out a startled bark of laughter and grinned delightedly, relaxing. “Or maybe I could write in the foam on the top of your caramel mocha.”

 

“It has been an unexpectedly epistolary courtship,” Cas agreed.

 

Dean laughed again. “Sam would be proud. He thinks I suck at writing.” His hand moved a little where it lay on his knee, then crept slowly out and touched Cas’. Cas immediately turned his hand, intertwining their fingers, and Dean’s eyes widened. He swallowed, looking down as their linked hands. “So…”

 

“Yes, Dean?” Cas licked his lips nervously, and watched as Dean’s eyes flickered upward again and the color rose in his face.

 

“So we’ve been talking for a while, and I’ve seen you at the cafe, but this is the first time we’ve actually, y’know, met properly, an’ I… fuck, Cas, I just really want to kiss you right now.”

 

Cas flung himself at Dean, knocking some of the more precariously stacked books off his coffee table in his haste. He swung one knee over, straddling Dean’s legs, and Dean gasped as Cas settled himself onto his thighs. Cas grabbed the sides of Dean’s face and leaned in. “Acceptable,” he stated, before closing the remaining distance between their faces and pressing his lips against Dean’s. He heard the intake of Dean’s breath, then Dean’s arms were around him, pulling him close. Cas tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and his hands slid into Dean’s soft hair. One of them whimpered — Cas truthfully couldn’t tell which of them, but took advantage of the moment to run the tip of his tongue along the sinful cupid’s bow of Dean’s upper lip. Dean’s hands slid along his back and Cas arched into them, pressing closer, his tongue meeting Dean’s hesitantly at first and then more surely. It was a heady rush, and Cas melted into it, hoping that his kiss was conveying all that he was feeling in this moment.

 

At some point they had to pull back, Cas leaning his forehead against Dean’s, their faces still close enough to share their panted breaths. He could feel the warmth of Dean’s solid, muscled thighs through the denim underneath him, Dean’s hands clasped around the small of his back, strands of Dean’s hair under his fingers. Dean kept pressing forward, leaving small kisses on the sides of Cas’ mouth, as if he couldn’t bear to stop. Cas wasn’t sure he could have borne it either.

 

“So, uh” Dean whispered at last, hands flexing against Cas. He nudged Cas’ nose with his own. “How fast do you wanna take this?” His voice was husky, sending a shiver down Cas’ spine. “I’m good with just this, just so you know. ‘cause this is fucking awesome. I mean, don’t feel like you gotta---”

 

Cas deliberately rocked forward.

 

“Oh, shit,” Dean gasped, hips stuttering upward involuntarily. “Cas.”

 

“Bedroom.”

 

“God, yes, _please_.”

 

***

 

Castiel’s bedroom was roughly fifteen steps from his living room couch. After he climbed off of Dean’s lap and pulled him to his feet, Cas had to kiss him again; Dean’s flushed cheeks and reddened mouth demanded it. Then, when he grabbed Dean’s hand to pull him forward, Dean took one long step and gathered him in again. Kiss, step, grab, grope, kiss, repeat. All in all, it took them about five minutes to take those fifteen steps.

 

Finally there they were, breathless and aching, in the doorway of Cas’ bedroom. Cas couldn’t remember the state in which he’d left his bed, and frankly, at this point he couldn’t care less, beyond a fleeting thought that he hoped he hadn’t left his laptop there, but he did raise a silent thank you to Gabe for forcing him to buy a queen-sized bed. Evidently his laptop was elsewhere, because he suddenly found himself grasped by the upper arms and spun around, pulled down onto the bed, Dean’s warm, solid body underneath him cushioning the fall.

 

Dean let out a small grunt as Cas landed on him. Cas looked at him in mild alarm, but Dean was grinning. “‘s a good weight. You’re built solid, aren’tcha, angel?” he said, running his hands down Cas’ sides and then pulling the oxford untucked to slide his hands underneath. “Too many layers though.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Cas said, sitting up slightly and unbuttoning his cuffs. He grabbed the ends of his shirt, undershirt, and sweater and pulled them all over his head, throwing them to the side of the bed in one crumpled mass of cloth he’d have to detangle later. Much, much later.

 

Dean’s face softened as he looked up at Cas. His eyes darkened as they traveled the length of Cas’ torso, and his tongue came out to wet his bottom lip. “So gorgeous, Cas,” he murmured. Cas felt his hands tighten around Cas’ hips, and suddenly Dean was upright and he was sitting in Dean’s lap again. “Don’t want you to be the only one shirtless, do we,” Dean whispered in his ear. Then Dean was kissing him again as Cas pushed the flannel off his shoulders and down his arms. It took longer than he would have liked to get Dean’s t-shirt off after that, despite Dean’s enthusiastic consent to his disrobing, since removing it meant breaking the contact between their lips, however briefly. Eventually they managed it, though, a victory that Cas celebrated by pushing Dean’s body back against the bed with his own, bare chest to bare chest.

 

“You’re so… _Dean_ ,” Cas growled, his hands cradling Dean’s head, fingers grabbing at the short brown strands of Dean’s hair, as they continued kissing. “Incredible.” Another kiss. “Brilliant.” He nipped at Dean’s lower lip, worrying it with his teeth. “Devastatingly handsome.”

 

“Fuck, Cas, ‘m ‘bout to…” Dean whined, bucking up to press his denim-clad erection against Cas’. “Can we just…” Cas rolled his hips slightly, reveling in the just-the-right-side-of-painful friction. “Oh god.” Dean grabbed at Cas’s belt and Cas pressed another kiss to Dean’s lips, then sat up, unbuckling his belt and unfastening his pants. Dean swallowed, watching the movement of Cas’ hands.

 

Cas suddenly found himself on his back, Dean unceremoniously yanking his slacks down by the hems and tossing them across the room. Dean then knelt up over Cas, unbuttoning his own jeans. Cas waited for him to stand to remove them, but instead Dean bent forward, one hand braced on the bed by Cas’ hip, and trailed slow, wet kisses down his sternum. Cas trailed his hands across Dean’s shoulders until he could cradle his head, fingers moving in Dean’s soft hair. He could feel Dean’s movements as he kicked off his jeans, and he shivered as Dean’s tongue dipped into his navel. “Dean,” he murmured, pulling on Dean’s shoulders, wanting to feel Dean’s weight all along his own body. “Up here.”

 

Dean slid upward at Castiel’s tugging, and Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of all that smooth skin on his own. He could feel the heat of Dean’s body pressing against his, Dean’s hand in his hair, Dean pressing those feather-light kisses to his face.

 

“C’mon, Cas, look at me,” Dean murmured, tugging on his hair a little. Cas gasped and opened his eyes.

 

Dean already looked wrecked, pupils blown, hair in disarray, his cheeks and chest flushed pink. His eyes were wide, full lips slightly parted, like a Caravaggio come to life.

 

Cas wrapped his arms more tightly around Dean, pulling him closer, kissing him with an intensity that he hoped conveyed some of what he was feeling. Dean tilted Cas’ head with one hand, deepening the kiss, sliding the other hand down Cas’ side and pushing just his fingertips under the waistband of Cas’ boxers. “This okay?” he murmured against Cas’ lips, grinning a little at Cas’ enthusiastic nod. Dean slid his hand further and squeezed, and Cas gasped, legs parting and twining around Dean’s, the unconscious tilt of his hips making them both groan at the sensation. It was too much, and not enough, Cas thought dimly, as Dean used his position to grind downwards, nearly whining in Cas’ ear as he dragged his mouth up Cas’ sensitive neck.

 

“Off,” murmured Cas in Dean’s ear. “Dean...mm, off.” He tugged at Dean’s boxer briefs with one hand while wriggling his hips a little.

 

Suddenly he was cold, and kissing air. “Wha...Dean?” He opened his eyes again, perplexed. Dean was kneeling up on the bed next to him, a look of shock on his face.

 

“Dean?” Cas propped himself up on his elbows groggily. “Where’d you go?”

 

He watched as Dean swallowed, looking away. “Um. You said off.”

 

Cas boggled for a moment. Then he sat upright, grabbed Dean’s shoulders, and gently guided him down onto his back.  

 

“Oh, Dean,” he said, looking down at Dean’s confused face, his chest tight with mingled compassion, hilarity, and joy. “I want you. Now. Take. _Off_. Your. Pants.”

 

The utter relief in Dean’s expression made Cas giggle, and soon they were both laughing, squirming and kicking as they tried to rid themselves of the offending garments. At last both pairs of underwear were discarded, and Cas lay on his back wheezing for a moment as Dean chuckled next to him. He glanced over at Dean, and his breath caught.

 

Dean was beautiful.

 

He was propped up on his side, one hand supporting his head, the other pushing back his hair from where it had tried to fall in his face. Cas just looked, and looked.  Dean had gorgeous tan skin, with freckles like those on his face dotting his shoulders and the tops of his arms. His body was both muscular and smooth, defined in a way that left a softness Cas wanted to sink his teeth into. But first, he wanted to get his hands — mouth — whatever — on Dean’s gorgeous cock.

 

Cas dropped his hand and squeezed his own cock, breathing deeply. If there was a god to believe in, Castiel believed fervently in that moment that they had sent Dean Winchester to him.

 

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathed, moving to stroke himself. “Are you real?”

 

Cas grinned softly. “I was just wondering the same about you.” He rolled closer to cup Dean’s face, insinuating a thigh between Dean’s legs. Dean shifted to let him in, leaning to kiss Cas softly, then more urgently. Cas gasped into Dean’s mouth as Dean’s hips moved and brought their dicks together. His own hips flexed as the rush of sensation overwhelmed him, and he cried out as Dean’s hand enfolded them both together, stroking softly.

 

“You got lube?” Dean panted. Cas nodded frantically but clung to Dean for a moment longer, not wanting to pause that hot slide. Dean was so warm where Cas was touching him; Cas wanted to sink into it like a hot bath and never leave.

 

He steadied himself, looping his arm around Dean’s shoulders. “Bedside table drawer,” he managed. Dean grinned and kissed him softly, then rolled away, fumbling with the drawer and turning back toward Cas with a bottle in his fist. He raised an eyebrow.

 

“Got the good stuff, huh?” he said softly, and Cas blushed, biting his lip. Dean’s eyes widened and he lunged forward, tackling Cas to the bed and licking desperately into his mouth. Cas just tilted his head to get deeper, grinding upward as Dean bit kisses into his neck, down to his collarbone.  “God, Cas, I just…” he trailed off, looking down at Cas and rolling his hips. “You’re so gorgeous, I just want to—” his voice broke on a groan.

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas gasped, wanting to touch him everywhere, kiss him everywhere, feel him over and beneath him. His own hips rose, but Dean rose up, too, kneeling as he poured lube over his open palm. Cas gripped Dean’s thighs to steady himself, loving the strength there. Dean dropped the bottle and lowered himself back down onto one elbow, the other hand reaching between them to grasp their cocks again.

 

Cas gasped and writhed at the triple sensation of _cool slick tight_ as his hips bucked upwards. He joined his hand with Dean’s, wanting to feel it, linking his and Dean’s fingers as they squeezed and stroked, warm now and sliding sweetly. Cas swept his thumb over the head of Dean’s cock and Dean shuddered, gasping. Dean was thick and heavy in his hand,

 

“God, yeah, Cas. So close,” Dean muttered, and Cas grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that was mostly breath and tongue but so, so good.

 

Cas could feel Dean’s heart beating, feel the heat of his body and his muscles working, straining toward their shared goal. He lost himself in the sensation, one hand still threaded in Dean’s hair, Dean’s forehead coming to rest on Cas’ collarbone as he watched their hands move together.

 

“Cas, wanna see you come, wanna watch you. God, I can’t —”

 

And at that Cas’s orgasm tore out of him with a groan, and he came over their fists, Dean’s hungry eyes fixed on his face.

 

“ _God_ , yeah, so hot Cas, m’gonna—” a few frantic strokes more, and Cas felt Dean’s cock stiffen further in his slackened grasp, felt the warm wetness strike his belly and chest. Cas pulled Dean down again to kiss him through it, both of them gasping and panting. Dean gave a few more languid pulls, then finally slumped sideways onto the covers beside Cas.  

 

Cas lay there catching his breath, sprawled on his back with one hand just touching Dean’s hair. He watched Dean’s eyes flutter open after a moment, dazed eyes finding Cas’ face.

 

Cas couldn’t help the pleased smile he gave Dean, and judging from his answering lopsided grin, Dean was equally pleased. Cas leaned over and kissed Dean softly. "I'll get us a washcloth," he murmured against Dean’s lips. "You just remain here and look debauched."

 

Dean chuckled softly, capturing Castiel's bottom lip between his own. Cas couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped him, leaning into the kiss just to taste more of Dean. Dean pulled away after a moment, still chuckling. "I'll wait, angel. Not like I could move real fast after that anyway."

 

Cas grinned again and rose. “I’ll be right back.” With a last lingering look behind him at Dean sprawled on his bed, Cas quickly made his way to his small bathroom to wet a washcloth. He caught a glimpse of himself in the cabinet mirror and stopped, startled. His hair was a mess — well, more of a mess than usual, standing out in all directions. His lips were red and puffy, and his eyes were half-lidded yet unusually bright. He blushed faintly as he noticed that he also had some stubble burn on his neck.

 

Feeling more than a bit smug, Castiel quickly wiped himself down, then carefully wet another washcloth for Dean, grabbed a towel, and carried both back to the bedroom.

 

He came through the bedroom door again and tossed the towel at Dean, who caught it neatly.

 

“I thought perhaps you’d like to wipe off first.” Cas held up the washcloth.

 

“We did get a little messy,” Dean agreed. He wiped off with the towel, then dropped it behind him on the bed and put out a hand for the washcloth.

 

“It will cost you,” said Castiel, holding the damp cloth just above Dean's hand. Dean just looked at him with a slow smile, a dangerous glint in his eye.

 

"Oh, yeah?" Before Cas could reply, he found himself yanked forward and neatly deposited on his back on the bed, Dean looming above him with a cheerful grin. The grin grew devilish as Dean leaned close. His voice was a husky growl. "Name your price."

 

Castiel swallowed. “Spend the night?”

 

Dean's eyes widened, then his grin grew blinding and he scooped Castiel close in a hug. "Any time you ask."

 

They lay together for a bit, just kissing and touching, until finally Cas pulled free with a sigh.

 

"I'm enjoying our time together so much that I seem to have lost track of the clock. It must be past dinnertime now."

 

“It’s... “ Dean fumbled around until he grabbed whichever phone was closer. “Nah, seven-thirty. Early times yet. What say we get some takeout? You must be hungry, too.” He smirked at Cas. “All that exercise.”

 

“Unaccustomed, even,” Cas said, and watched as Dean’s smile grew a bit more smug. “Usually I run.”

 

“Mm, I can tell.” Dean’s gaze traveled down his body admiringly. “That explains those legs.” He dropped the phone between them, reaching to palm the dip of Cas’ waist. “And that ass.”

 

Cas gasped as Dean grabbed a firm handful and pulled him closer. “I thought we were getting takeout,” he murmured against Dean’s lips.

 

“In a minute,” Dean breathed, moving his lips to Cas’ neck, then further south to his collarbone. “I haven’t given this gorgeous body the attention it deserves.” He bit down gently, and Cas shuddered. Dean’s hands smoothed down his back, his arms, his thighs,  finally coming to rest on either side of his neck, thumbs stroking. “Might take a while.”

 

“Oh,” said Cas faintly. “Perhaps…”

 

Dean made an inquiring noise near his ear. Cas’ stomach decided to reply with a similar growl.

 

Cas cleared his throat. “Food?” He could feel Dean’s smile against his neck.

 

“Aw, angel, you _are_ hungry.” With a last lingering kiss, Dean sat up. “Okay, food, then I’ll give you some proper appreciation.” He reached for the phone between them. “Got any preferences?”

 

“Quick and easy?”

 

Dean looked startled, then grinned. “Baby, you already got me.”

 

Cas hit him in the stomach with a pillow. “Pizza?”

 

“Perfect. Wait, shit, Sammy,” Dean said, fumbling around for his pants. “We were gonna get… and I kinda totally bailed on him.”

 

Cas shot him an amused look. “I’m reasonably certain he noticed you leaving.”

 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, all kind of a blur, y’know? I should at least shoot him a text or some shit.” He pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He glanced at the screen and his eyes softened, and in Cas’ opinion it was completely unfair that someone could look that sexy and simultaneously that adorable. “Bitch,” he muttered affectionately.

 

“Everything alright?”

 

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, just Sammy bein’ a douche. He sent me a bunch of texts earlier.” He smiled wryly, then handed the phone to Castiel. “See for yourself.”

  
  


 

[Sam] Raincheck on the burgers

[Sam] Practice safe sex! ;D

[Sam] Don’t worry I’m not planning to wait up for you

[Sam] Thanks for going to his place tho

[Sam] And you guys had better keep it down when you’re over here some of us have to sleep

[Sam] Also you so owe me

[Sam] You’re both idiots by the way

[Sam] I can say that now he’s not my teacher

[Sam] and you’ve always been an idiot

[Sam] seriously though I’m happy for you

[Sam] he’s way out of your league just FYI

[Sam] Jerk

  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter contains a brief joke about mpreg, which is definitely not a thing in this universe.

Dean grabbed the phone back from Cas, typing in a quick response to Sam. “C’mon, the sooner we get food in our systems the sooner we can get back to the good stuff.”

 

Cas raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got the phone in your hands, Dean.”

 

“Right, yeah…” Dean said, pulling up the number of his favorite pizza place. “Uh, opinions on toppings?”

 

“Flexible,” Cas said, then added, “Very flexible.”

 

Cas decided that a slightly pink Dean was an adorable Dean, especially when he saw that the blush extended to his ears. As well as a few other parts.

 

***

 

Pizza ordered, eaten, and cleaned up after, the two cuddled in postprandial torpor on the bed, Castiel in the robe and boxers he’d thrown on to meet the deliveryman, and Dean in his t-shirt and briefs. They had discussed watching a movie or show, but decided against it, since Cas' television was in the living room, and neither had wanted to stir from the positions they'd fallen into after triumphantly vanquishing a large multi-topping pizza. Instead, they lay propped against Castiel's headboard, Cas idly playing with Dean's surprisingly soft hair.

 

“Oh my god, this food baby is enormous,” Dean groaned, framing his distended abdomen with his hands.

 

“I’m worried our relationship is moving too quickly, Dean,” Cas said, deadpan. “I always told myself I’d wait until I had my PhD to become a father. But I’ll support whatever you decide to do with our child, as it is your body.”

 

This time it was Dean hitting Cas with a pillow, which quickly degenerated into a pillow fight. The epic battle culminated with Cas rolling Dean into the covers and off the bed, then sitting on Dean’s back and pummelling him with a throw pillow, while Dean nearly cried with laughter and begged Cas to stop before he puked.

 

Gasping, grinning, and lightly covered in cat hair, Cas and Dean lay next to each other on the floor. Cas’ hand found Dean’s and twined their fingers together. Every so often, Cas felt a chuckle shake Dean’s chest. His own chest felt so full of happiness he might explode.

 

A few moments later, however, Dean sneezed. Then, Dean sneezed again. He then started sneezing and coughing, the violent movements involuntarily pushing Cas away. “Shit, shit, you’ve got a cat.”

 

“Pellinore, yes,” Cas said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “Though he’s not in the room right now.” He’d learned to keep Pell out of his bedroom during amorous encounters.

 

“Fuck, I’m… I’m sorry, Cas, ‘m allergic, got any Claritin?” Dean began sneezing again.

 

“Yes, I believe I do. I’ll get you a tablet and a glass of water.” Dean sneezed again. “And a box of tissues.”

 

“Thag you very buch,” said Dean earnestly.

 

“And possibly also a Benadryl, since they tend to kick in a bit faster,” Cas called back worriedly as he rose and headed down the hall.

 

“Awesome!” he heard Dean’s raspy voice call back.

 

Cas rifled hurriedly through his medicine cabinet, relieved to find both Benadryl and Claritin in short order. He shook out a tablet of each, then strode to the kitchen and drew a glass of water. He could hear Dean’s wheezes and coughs, and he returned to his room just in time to hear Dean sneeze six times in quick succession.

 

“Dean,” he said pityingly, as the afflicted looked up at him with bloodshot, watery eyes. “I’m so sorry. Here is the medicine; I did have both, thankfully.”

 

Dean took the proffered pills gratefully, knocking them back with half the glass of water. Cas felt almost guilty for watching his throat work as he swallowed. Almost.

 

“Tissues!” he said aloud, breaking himself out of his reverie, and headed for the bathroom once again.

 

Provided with tissues, medication, and a sympathetic shoulder, Dean soon stopped sneezing and relaxed, slumped against Cas on his pillow.

 

“I’m very sorry about your allergy attack,” Cas said softly, stroking Dean’s arm. “I am fairly rigorous about changing my bedclothes, but I’m afraid I can’t change the rug. I’ll vacuum tomorrow.”

 

Dean gave a muffled chuckle. “S’okay, angel,” he said drowsily. “M’not usually that bad; prolly cuz we w’re rollin’ in it.” He snuggled closer, tugging Castiel’s arm more tightly around him and pulling haphazardly at the covers. “Naptime?”

 

"Of course, Dean. We have all night." Cas arranged the comforter more snugly around them, tugging it out from under Dean's shoulder and smoothing it. Dean made a small, petulant noise.

 

Cas smiled down at Dean’s face, which was practically buried in his armpit. Dean’s eyes were closed, his lashes gold in the lamplight. His cheek was squashed against Cas’ chest, and as Cas watched, he smacked his lips twice and gave a deep sigh. Cas stretched his arm out, twisting his body as he reached for the lamp while trying not to disturb Dean. He just managed to reach it, pulling the chain and throwing the room into near darkness.

 

Tenderness. The word came to the surface of Cas’ mind, and he felt a settling, a falling into place. Tenderness, and affection, and a healthy dose of good old-fashioned lust: all these combined into how he felt about Dean.

 

And he thought, with some trepidation but an exponentially larger amount of joy, that this feeling could easily deepen and become a great deal more.

 

He wiggled slightly to position himself more comfortably. Dean was still partially on top of him, but now Cas’ arm wouldn’t fall asleep. He’d have to relearn the mechanics of sleeping with someone else.

 

He looked forward to relearning the mechanics of sleeping with someone else.

 

He pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head and closed his eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's later than usual and shorter than usual, real life interfered. We'll be making up for it with the next chapter.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel woke slowly, rising to the surface of awareness like a bubble through champagne. He rolled over, luxuriating in a full-body stretch under the warm covers, feeling the pleasant ache in his muscles that meant he’d done some vigorous exercise. The vague awareness that the bubbly feeling and the muscle soreness were somehow related finally clicked, and he hugged his pillow in a spasm of giddy delight.

 

Dean.

 

After their dinner and Dean’s subsequent alarming allergy attack they’d napped. Cas had awoken sometime in the wee hours to Dean nibbling at one nipple while rolling the other between deft fingers. The resulting escapades hadn’t been particularly acrobatic, but had had an immensely satisfying conclusion for both of them. Dean had taken his time, and Cas had felt cherished and adored. He only hoped his own ministrations had conveyed his adoration and reverence in return. Castiel had finally fallen asleep again with Dean’s bare chest as his pillow, his slow and steady heartbeat the best lullaby.

 

And now, Cas was awake, and judging from the whistling and the mouth-watering smells wafting his way through the thoughtfully closed bedroom door, so was Dean.

 

Cas closed his eyes again, grinning, and snuggled under the covers for one more moment. Then he braced himself and flung them back, shivering in the cool morning air and hurrying into his robe, pajama pants, and slippers. As he reached for the doorknob, Cas noticed the yellow note stuck jauntily to the door.

  
  


 

[Didn’t want to wake you. Hope you like French toast.]

 

He peeled off the note and carefully placed it in the pocket of his robe. He’d put it with the others later. In the meantime, he had something delicious waiting for him in the kitchen.

 

After using the bathroom, making sure to brush away his morning breath, Cas emerged tentatively from his tiny hallway. He stood next to the 60’s-era room divider and watched as Dean flipped a piece of what smelled like the best French toast Cas had ever encountered. Dean was wearing a pair of what Cas recognized as his old pajama pants along with one of Cas’ old KU t-shirts, which was far too small for Dean’s broad shoulders, and this fetching ensemble was topped with the frilly pink dotted-swiss-and-eyelet apron that Gabe had bought Castiel for a joke.

 

Pellinore, the traitor, had decided to forgo his usual morning routine of waiting outside the bedroom for Cas to get up and feed him, instead winding himself in figure eights around Dean’s legs while purring loudly.

 

_This,_ Castiel thought. _This is what I want to wake up to every morning._

 

“Dean,” he said, and had to clear his throat when it came out in a growl. “Good morning.” He wasn’t sure that the resultant breathy whisper was any improvement.

 

Dean turned from the stove and grinned at him, spatula in hand. “Mornin’, angel,” he said cheerfully, turning back to the stove. “Figured since I was awake, I’d make us breakfast.”

 

“It smells wonderful,” said Cas truthfully, coming forward to peer over Dean’s shoulder into the pan. “Coffee?”

 

“Counter.” Dean pointed with the spatula.

 

Cas poured himself a cup from the French press, dumping in his usual small mound of sugar and some of the cream Dean had thoughtfully left out next to it. “Marry me,” he said, honestly unsure if he was joking or not.

 

“But Mr. Novak, this is so sudden,” said Dean, fluttering his eyelashes. He grinned at the look on Cas’ face, then moved forward, raising a hand to cup the back of Cas’ neck and pull him in for a lingering kiss. As he pulled away he breathed in Cas’ ear, “I want to at least get my mouth on your cock first.”

 

Cas’ full-body shudder nearly made him spill his coffee. “Dean,” he said faintly.

 

Dean pretended to be busy flipping toast slices. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, breakfast first.” The look he shot Cas from under his unfairly long eyelashes was positively blistering.

 

Cas sat down in his chair at the kitchen table with a thud. “Dean Winchester, you are going to be the death of me.” His brain was on overload from the simple thought of Dean’s mouth on his body, never mind the possibility of antemeridian fellatio. He pondered for a moment, then had a timely thought, and smiled slowly at Dean’s back.

 

“I have no gag reflex,” he said casually, and sipped his coffee.

 

Dean dropped his spatula.

 

***

 

“At least we didn’t eat too much this time,” Dean said, pushing back his plate with a sigh that sounded a bit regretful.

 

“Well, it helped that I only had six pieces of bread,” Cas replied drily, rising and putting both their plates in the sink. “Besides, the things I plan to do to you wouldn’t be good on a full stomach.” He turned to grin over his shoulder at Dean.

 

“Castiel, I do believe you are what we call a tease.” Dean sat back in his chair and stretched, showing a little strip of skin where Cas’ too-small shirt rode up. Cas licked his lips. Dean smirked and put his hands behind his head. Cas thought he heard something rip.

 

“Tease. I see.” Cas nodded thoughtfully, slouching against the sink and putting his hands in the pockets of his well-loved robe. He saw something flutter in Dean’s eyes, and he pulled languidly at his robe until it fell open, revealing a tantalizing slice of skin from his collarbone to the top of his threadbare pajama pants. “Am I teasing you now?” He ran one hand down the lapel of his robe from shoulder to waist, lingering on the elastic of his waistband. “What about now?” He pulled the robe down off one shoulder, then stuck his hand down his pants and adjusted himself, already partially erect again. “Hmm, now?”

 

“Castiel,” Dean growled, and rose from the table, startling the cat.

 

Cas decided to push his luck one more time, hooking his thumbs in his waistband and pushing the pants down an inch or so. “And now?”

 

“Nah,” Dean said, moving to stand in front of him. “‘cause I’m planning on taking you up on it.” His hands settled on Cas’ hips, and a shiver went through Cas as he watched Dean slowly lower himself to his knees. Dean grinned lasciviously up at him through those eyelashes. Then he bent forward, holding himself steady on Cas’ hipbones, and nuzzled his face against Cas’ rapidly hardening cock.

 

Cas thought fleetingly, before all coherency left him, that he was glad he was propped against the counter. After that it was only Dean’s hot breath through the thin cotton of his pants, Dean’s large hands warm on his hips, keeping him grounded. Dean’s mouth learning his shape through cloth, hot tongue coming out to taste the widening circle of precome that Cas was leaving, Dean groaning and the vibrations shaking Cas from head to toe.

 

“Dean!” he gasped, curling forward, hands settling on Dean’s head, fingers tangling. He inadvertently tugged, trying to ground himself, and Dean groaned again, looking up at Cas at last, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown. “Dean,” he said again, awestruck, as Dean’s fingers flexed on his hipbones.

 

“God, Cas, can’t wait to suck you,” Dean whined, nuzzling at Cas’ swiftly filling cock. “Gotta feel you, you smell so good, taste so good, god Cas,” and his fumbling fingers pulled at Cas’ waistband, tugging his pants down. They fell to his ankles, but Cas didn’t notice; he moaned as Dean rubbed his cheek against the soft skin of his cock, the prickling of Dean’s stubble making him weak at the knees. Then Dean’s soft, wet tongue dragged against the head, and Cas was gone.

 

He could feel the texture of Dean’s hair between his fingers, on his palms, soft and spiky, the drag of Dean’s tongue, the rumble of Dean’s enthusiasm and the hot, sweet pressure of his mouth as he sucked and licked up and down the length of Cas’ cock. Cas felt his joints loosen, the sweep of heightened arousal tightening his hands in Dean’s hair and causing him to move his hips in tiny thrusts. The tension of Dean’s hand on one hip released, and Cas jerked and cried out as he felt Dean’s hand at his sac, rolling and fondling, fingers pressing backward toward his perineum. Cas’ whole being centered on the sensation of Dean’s mouth and hand pulling his climax closer. The coiling waves of pleasure crested, and he was barely able to stutter “Dean — I’m —” before he stiffened and came with a gasp. Dean pulled him close, sucking harder, moaning as if Cas’ orgasm was his own, gripping his hip and laving at Cas’ softening cock until he shivered with overstimulation. Cas pushed weakly at Dean’s head and Dean pulled away with one last lick, closing his eyes and breathing in. Cas sank to the floor beside him, detaching from his death grip on Dean’s hair and throwing his arms around his neck instead.

 

Dean buried his face in Cas’ shoulder. “God, Cas, that was so hot,” he panted, fingers stroking lightly up and down Cas’ spine. ‘Wanna see your face every time, angel.” His hips rutted up, seeking.

 

“Mmm,” murmured Cas, slowly regaining the power of speech. “Dean, you’re ‘mazing.” He felt Dean’s chuckle against his neck. Breathing hard, he stroked a hand down Dean’s arm and clasped his fingers for a moment, then slid the hand over to his thigh. “I need to return the favor,” he breathed, and slid his hand further to caress Dean’s stiff cock, which still tented his borrowed pajamas and the ridiculous apron.

 

“Don’t need to, Cas,” Dean murmured into his neck, mouthing soft kisses on this skin there. “M’fine.”

 

Cas chuckled. “Want to.” He squirmed a bit. “Need to.” He pushed Dean slowly back, back, adjusting until he lay splayed out before him on the kitchen floor. “Dean, I want my mouth on you now.”

Dean didn’t hesitate, but pushed his pants down and off, baring himself to Cas’ hungry gaze.

 

“God, Dean. You’re like every wet dream come true,” Cas crooned, stroking the strong muscles of Dean’s thighs, inhaling deeply at the crux of his groin. “I want my tongue on you everywhere.”

 

Dean laughed shakily. “Whenever you want, angel. I’m yours.”

 

Cas looked at him from under lowered eyelashes and twirled his tongue through the line of hair under Dean’s navel. “Mine, Dean.” His eyes fluttered shut, and he licked again, wide and filthy. “And I am yours.” He heard Dean’s breath catch, and looked up as he felt a shudder run through Dean’s body. Dean looked wrecked, and Cas had barely started.

 

“Mine to take apart,” Cas said throatily, and danced just the tip of his tongue up the vein on the underside of Dean’s cock. Dean threw his head back and made a noise that Cas wanted to hear again. “And mine to put back together.” Cas fitted his mouth over the head of Dean’s cock, groaning at the bittersweet taste of Dean’s precome, swirling his tongue around the head of Dean’s dick and bobbing down to taste as much of Dean as he could. He felt Dean jolt beneath him and pressed his forearm across Dean’s abdomen, a warning not to thrust too much; Dean tensed, then relaxed, one hand coming up to fumble over Cas’ head and rest on his shoulder.

 

Cas pulled up until just the head of Dean’s cock was in his mouth, breathed deeply through his nose, then sank down until he could feel the head of Dean’s penis brush his soft palate. He swallowed, and Dean cried out.

 

“Oh god, jesus, Cas, I can’t — nnng, gonna come, ohgod —”

 

Cas swallowed again, eyes watering, and felt Dean’s cock stiffen further. Dean keened, and Cas backed off, wanting to feel Dean’s come hot against his tongue; he moaned as Dean spent into his mouth, and swallowed again.

 

He collapsed on the linoleum, then dragged himself a few inches to curl himself around Dean’s body.

 

“Damn,” Dean said, wrapping an arm around Cas.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So… not that this isn’t an nice floor an’ all…”

 

“Shower?”

 

“You read my mind, angel.”

 

They laid quietly for a moment or two, neither actually in a rush to move.

 

“Uh, Cas?” Dean whispered hesitantly, “There’s something on my head...”

 

Cas, in a supreme act of willpower, raised his head off the ground a few inches to look over at Dean. “The cat appears to be chewing on your hair.”

  
  


***

  
  


The door chime played “Ride of the Valkyries“ this time as Dean walked in, and he stifled a grin. This was gonna be fun.

 

A familiar face peeked over the well-stocked counter. “Well, hello there, it’s the Pie Whisperer.”

 

“Yeah, not so much…” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around. “Figured I’d come back for a chance at the title, though.” He took one hand back out and stuck it forward. “Dean Winchester. Brought a recipe for you to try out.”

 

His hand was taken in a surprisingly strong grip. “Gabe Novak, chief baker, chocolatier, and owner of this fine establishment.” Gold eyes sized him up as the man whipped off his apron and came around the front of the counter.

 

The guy — Gabe --  made an impatient gesture. “Okay, what have you got for me, sugarlips, besides the anticipation of my evil laughter as I leave you in my floury pie-making dust?”

 

Dean snorted. “As if.” He slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out a single recipe card. It was smudged and wrinkled, with numerous brown stains dotting the paper. He held it up between his finger and thumb.

 

Gabe squinted, then raised his eyebrows. “First impression, favorable. Are you gonna let me get my hands on that, or did you bring a copy?”

 

Dean shrugged. “I figured if you didn’t have a copier handy, I could write it out for you. I’ve got decent handwriting.”

 

Gabe held up a flour-dusted phone. “Does no one I know live in this century? Phone, picture, say cheese!” he said, taking a closeup of the recipe card and several of Dean holding it. “Work it, now poutier…”

 

“Dude, pie is serious business,” Dean said, and then gave his poutiest face. “I call this one my Blue Steel.”

 

Gabe rolled his eyes as he took a last photo. “Don’t strain yourself, hot stuff. Now, anything exotic on that there card, or will I have it all in my ample coffers?”

 

“This recipe’s a lot older ‘n Whole Foods, you should be fine.”

 

Gabe handed the recipe back over with a smirk. “Family secret, eh? Those are always the best skeletons. Can’t wait to see how it comes out.”

 

Dean shrugged. “Might be best when made by a Winchester. Guess we’ll find out. How about I bring mine in and we can try them both together?”

 

“Oooh, now that’s a challenge I’m more than ready to accept, Freckles.” Gabe narrowed his eyes in thought. “Hmmm, I might want an impartial judge. I’ve got a cousin who just happens to be an excellent arbiter. I could invite him along if it’s cool with you.”

 

“Sure, I guess that’s fine. Maybe I’ll bring my brother along just for kicks, too. He’s got kind of a thing for your chocolate.” Dean grinned as Gabe’s eyebrows rose.

 

“Oh does he now? By all means, bring him along. If he’s anything like you, I’m sure I have something special for him to sample.”

 

Dean snorted. “I just bet you do.” He wondered if Sam was gonna kiss him or have a heart attack when he told him the plan.

 

“Ok, gimme your phone.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Gimme your phone, pie head, I’ll give you my number. We have to set this up somehow, and I have to ask my cousin when he’s available.”

 

“Oh, yeah, uh, sure.” Dean fumbled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Gabe, who fiddled with it for a few minutes, muttering to himself. When Gabe handed it back with a grin, Dean saw that the number had been entered under “Pie Champion of the World,” and the ringtone had somehow been set to “Cherry Pie.” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Dude, you are so going down.”

 

“Yeah, well, old age and treachery will overcome youth and skill. Anything else we need to get started with this? I can have my assistants here too, in case we need an emergency supply of cheddar or vanilla ice cream.”

 

“Yeah, the more the merrier, I’m cool with it. I’ll be sure to bring my boyfriend along to the party.” Dean’s face lit in a grin that was almost shy. Gabe’s heart did a little leap and plummet.

 

“You bet, big guy. Can’t wait.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Okay, duty calls, back to the sugar mines. I’ll have my people get in touch with your people.” Gabe gave another big grin, just a tiny bit less bright than before, and whisked behind the counter and out of sight. Dean blinked, then took a moment to replace the stained recipe card carefully in the inside pocket of his jacket.

 

On his way out, the door chime played “Savoy Truffle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the delay! Thank you for sticking with us anyway. Due to stupid life things we're going to have to modify our update schedule to every other Saturday, so the next update will be 23 May, because we'd rather commit to a schedule we can keep, and keep it, than try for something else and fail. We should be good from here on out.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter! Thank you for reading, and for your kudos and comments. It means so much to us both.


	13. Chapter 13

“I got this one, Meg,” Dean said, almost knocking her into a stack of just-stacked cups in his eagerness to get to the register.

 

Meg shook her head wearily. “Of course you do. Have at.”

 

“So…” Dean drawled. “What can I get for you today, _sir_?”

 

The customer made no secret of the slow sweep of his eyes over Dean’s body. “I think you know what I’d like.”

 

“Hot and sweet?”

 

“And make it a large.”

 

“My eyes, my precious, precious eyes,” Meg interrupted, dramatically holding a hand over her face. “I thought you two would be better now that you were actually doing the horizontal tango. Better! Not acting out a coffee shop scene from _Casa Erotica_.”

 

Dean started snickering, which set Cas off, a deep laugh that Dean unsurprisingly found very attractive.

 

“Sorry, Meg,” Dean said sheepishly. “Couldn’t help it.”

 

“Sorry,” Cas agreed, though he didn’t quit grinning either.

 

“Bad enough I already have to deal with Ruby and Alfie,” Meg grumbled. “But now there’s you two. Just make him his damn drink before I puke.”

 

“I’d like a medium latte.”

 

“You got it, Angel,” Dean said, then waved away Cas’ attempt to pay. “Heading upstairs?”

 

Cas nodded. “Unfortunately I needed some of the books checked out to my carrel.”

 

Dean handed him his drink. “I’ve got my break at seven and I’m off at ten.”

 

“We’re still on for afterwards?” Cas asked, locking eyes with Dean.

 

Meg slammed a blender cup down on the counter, the noise startling them both. “Quit eyefucking already! Argh. You, upstairs,” she said, pointing to Cas, then to Dean, “and you, back to work. If we can close on time that’s that much faster you can go back to his place. Now shoo.” Neither of them moved. “Shoo!”

 

Cas looked at her, then down at his latte, then back up at Dean, reddening slightly before walking away.

 

“Do I even want to know?” Meg asked.

 

Dean smirked. “Alfie isn’t the only one who can draw foam dicks.”

 

He felt his pocket buzz.

 

 

[Cas: Can’t wait until seven.]

  


***

 

“Sam.”

 

“Sam.”

 

“SAMMAY!” Dean said, giving Sam’s door another pound with his fist. ”Breakfast!”

 

“fMUrf?” Sam flailed a hand groggily out from under his covers. “De’?” He managed to open a bleary eye. “Timezit?”

 

“Nine am, rise and shine,” Dean said, with the sort of cheerfulness that spoke of an excellent night’s sleep and even more excellent sexual activity.

 

Sam groaned and burrowed deeper under the covers. “You gotta be kidding me.”

 

“I made pancakes. Yours are blueberry and shaped like animals.”

 

“Cas still here?”

 

“He had to head back and feed the cat. ‘sides, I have work in an hour.”

 

Sam dragged himself to the kitchen a few minutes later, sitting down at the table to start on the massive pile of pancakes his brother placed in front of him.

 

“Another shift?”

 

Dean tore into a piece of bacon with his usual finesse, chewing with his mouth open as he answered. “Yeah, well, your ugly mug won’t feed itself. Not like it’s a hardship — it’s totally dead this time of year, maybe a couple of profs or library staff come by for the usual. It’s more dealing with Meg and Ruby.”

 

“Dean, I’ll be working more, too. Dr. Haskins has some work she wants me to do over the break, and the law firm can use the hours.”

 

“Just as long as it won’t distract you from your classes.”

 

“I’ll be fine, _Mom_. Besides, it’s break, dipshit, no classes for a month.”

 

Dean hit him affectionately on the back of the head with an oven mitt.

 

“You… uh, you maybe got time to go out for drinks or something? We just…between Cas… which, y’know, I’m super happy about… and everything I’ve barely seen you lately.”

 

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Dean said. “You still owe me those burgers for finishing the semester anyway, you little sneak.”

 

“Hey, I didn’t hear you complaining… moaning, maybe… “ Sam cackled as Dean turned bright red and turned back to the stove.

 

“Ugh, wear some earplugs, Sammy.”

 

“You inviting him for Christmas?” Sam said, trying for nonchalant and failing, as he was still snickering under his breath.

 

Dean matched him failed nonchalance for failed nonchalance as he replied, “Nah, we’re gonna stick with our original plans. Been like what, two weeks now? Way too soon. Don’t wanna jinx it. Besides, he’s had enough of you for one semester, gotta give the guy a break.”

 

“So what’s he doing? He stayed in town for Thanksgiving, right?” Sam said through his mouthful of pancakes.

 

Dean actually swallowed before he spoke. “Yeah, his cousin lives here, but his family’s up in Michigan. I guess his mom and dad want him home for the holidays or something.”

 

“Well, you know Bobby and Ellen would skin us alive if we didn’t show up, even if Dad—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, they’d give me the third degree about Cas, too. Kinda glad he’ll miss the interrogation.”

 

Sam laughed. “And Jo will be there, too, don’t forget. She’ll want the scoop.”

 

“Oh god, Joanna Beth,” Dean groaned, but Sam saw the reluctant smile as well.

 

“It’ll be great to see everyone, though. You got all your presents ready?”

 

Dean laughed hollowly. “What do you think? Not a chance. I’m heading out to shop later, you wanna come?”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, there’s this thing called the ‘internet.’ I got all my shopping done by Halloween. You can brave the ravenous hordes all by yourself.”

 

“Glad to know you’ve got my back, asshole. Oh, yeah, speaking of ravenous… I challenged that dude at _Sweet Paradise_ to a pie-off after New Year’s. You wanna come?”

 

“The guy at Sweet Paradise? You mean _the owner_??!” Sam’s jaw dropped.

 

“Hey, it’s _Mom’s recipe_. I know you’ve had a chocolate boner for the guy for years, but come on.”

 

Sam stuttered. “I— you— no— _Dean_!! I mean, Mom’s recipe is the best, but the guy’s a professional.”

 

“So?” Dean firmed his jaw. “I’ve been making pie since I was four. He won’t know what hit him.”

 

“But why _him_ of all people?” Sam practically whined. Dean smirked and flicked Sam in the forehead.

 

“You just want to get into his strawberry-flavored edible panties. Here’s your chance. Least you’ll get some damn good pie out of it. Shit, I still gotta ask Cas if he’ll come too. Then at least I’ll have one person there on my side.”

 

“Arrgh. Okay, so when is it?”

 

“Week after New Year’s. I gotta call Gabe to set it up.”

 

“Gabe?”

 

“Yes, that is in fact the name of the Sweet Paradise guy, so you can start doodling it in your notebooks. I’ll let you know after I set it up.” Dean grinned at Sam, who was blushing again. “Maybe he’ll let you taste more than his pie.”

 

“ _Jesus_ , Dean!” Sam stood up from the table, grabbing Dean’s plate along with his own. “Don’t you have work soon?”

 

“Shit!” Dean yelped. “Ok, gotta shower. Burgers tomorrow night?”

 

“Seven?”

 

“You got it, little brother.” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair as he went by. He had to reach up to do it.

  


***

  


When Cas saw his cousin, standing at his door at just past nine in the morning with a saran-wrapped plate, he knew something was wrong. The particular pastry Gabe was carrying was never on the menu at Sweet Paradise.

 

“Alright,” Castiel said, looking from Gabriel’s face to what he was carrying and back. “What have you done?”

 

“Aww, can’t I just visit my favorite cousin?”

 

“Gabriel, you’re usually sleeping at this hour, and those are your apology brownies. Is someone dead? Have you sold my kidneys to the mob? Do you need me to help you hide a body?”

 

“Droll, little cousin, very droll. And when have I ever lacked for resources?” Gabe batted his eyelashes as he shoved papers aside to set the plate and two coffees on the kitchen table. “Yeah, anyway, you caught me. I need your help with a thing. No digging or surgery required.”

 

“A thing.”

 

“A very minor, paltry thing. Insignificant, even. Barely even a thing, more like a—”

 

“Gabriel.”

 

“Ineedyoutocometastesomepie.”

 

“Gesundheit.”

 

“I. Need you. To come taste. Some pie.”

 

“What else?” Castiel crossed his arms. “Pie doesn’t merit apology brownies. Unless it’s poisoned. Is the pie poisoned?”

 

“Nothing else! Nothing at all! Just a little insignificant, paltry pie tasting. Perfectly delicious, unsullied, non-poisonous and non-venomous pie.” Gabe looked innocently over at Cas as he crammed an entire brownie into his mouth.

 

“Gabriel so help me God if you do not tell me what is going on with you…”

 

Gabriel choked a little, then swallowed and took a sip of coffee. “Cassie,” he said with a sigh, “I’m afraid your Grande Americano has gone to another customer.”

 

Cas looked confusedly from his coffee cup, which was right in front of him, back to Gabe, right in front of him but on a different axis.

 

“I don’t…”

 

“Your cafe pinup, your barista babe, your latte liaison. His name’s Dean Winchester, and he’s got a boyfriend.”

 

Cas slowly took a sip of his coffee as he continued to stare expressionlessly at his cousin.

 

“He came into the shop again… remember I mentioned him coming in before Thanksgiving? And…. uh, so we were talking pie, and I made a joke before about a contest, and he…” Gabe paused and gave a huge, gusty sigh. “He brought his grandmother’s pie recipe for a pie bake-off.” He looked at Castiel, eyes huge and mouth turned down in a pout.

 

“...And?”

 

“I tried, Cassie, I really did! I was like oh, I’ll just have my devastatingly handsome cousin who just happens to be single come to judge the winner! And he was all, okay, I’ll bring my brother! And then I said—”

 

“Gabriel, slow down.” Castiel held his hands out in supplication. “I’m still not sure where I come in to all this.”

 

Gabe raised his eyebrows. “You’re the _judge_ , Cassie! You’ve got to come and he’ll be there with his brother and his _boyfriend_ and I’m sorry, I was just trying to help.” He nudged the bag of brownies closer to Castiel.

 

“Ah.” Cas was stone-faced. “Hence the apology brownies.”

 

“YES, apology brownies, now eat one before I feel worse than I do already.” Gabe dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his face, then flinging his head back with a gleam in his eye. “Well, fuck it, Cassie m’boy, it’s his loss. I’m sure his boyfriend is a hulking brute of a troll who looks like he eats small children for breakfast and smells like it, too. And from the look of things, this Dean character is pretty whipped, so we can trade scathing insults about him and his beau without pinging the radar. Oh, fun.” Gabe sipped his macchiato morosely.

 

Cas bit very deliberately into the brownie, which was, as usual with Gabe’s baking, delicious: deep and rich with a hint of dark cocoa bitterness and raspberries to counteract the sweet.

 

“That’s hardly fair, Gabe.”

 

“I bet his brother’s ugly, too. And straight.”

 

“Gabe.”

 

“And married. Mormon, with ten wives.”

 

“Gabriel.”

 

“Maybe I can just close the cafe down for renovations for a month or so after Christmas.”

 

“Gabriel Emmanuel Novak. Hush and let me eat my brownie in peace.”

 

Gabe hushed. He looked up at Cas meekly through his eyelashes, placing both hands flat on the table in front of him and sitting perfectly still.

 

Castiel waited. Took another bite of brownie. Counted in his head.

 

...eight, nine, ten. Gabe started squirming in his chair, biting his lip and wringing his hands silently, practically vibrating out of his seat. Cas took pity on him, rolling his eyes as he finished the last delectable bite of brownie.

 

‘What?”

 

Gabe looked at him hopefully. “So will you still judge the contest?”

 

Cas’ mouth curled into a small tight smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it.”

  


***

 

  


[Cas: Are you free tonight?]

[Dean: Off at five.]

[Cas: Really need to see you.]

[Dean: Can head over when I get off?]

[Cas: I’ll see you then.]

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you in two weeks! We’re already planning a sequel for this story, but it’s going to be back-burnered while we work on this year’s DCBB. And yes, there are hints of Sabriel, which will be developed in the sequel. Thanks to all of our amazing commenters, especially those guessing at some of the stuff coming up. We apologise for falling a bit behind in responding to them, but rest assured we read and treasure every single one.
> 
> We do, however, have a timestamp for this story that we’ll be posting at some point. It’s set after this story, during Cas’ time at the International Congress on Medieval Studies. It’s pretty damn adorable.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN: We are very sorry about the posting delay. Here, have 3k of smut._

Dean had barely knocked on the door before Cas was dragging him inside and slamming it shut behind them.

 

“OOF!” Dean huffed as Cas tackled him against the now closed and locked door. “Easy there, tiger. What’s the occasionmmf?!!”

 

Castiel said nothing, seemingly content to let his lips...and tongue, and the hands sneaking to untuck Dean’s shirt and slide down the back of Dean’s pants... do the talking for him.

 

“Not that you, uhhh, need an occasion or anything,” Dean added breathily the next time he had the power of speech.

 

Cas just looked at him, cheeks pink and lips red, eyes bright, and hair looking like he was just debauched in an alley. “Dean!” he said, licking his lips redder. “Dean.” He pressed another kiss to Dean’s lips, which were beginning to feel like Cas’ looked.

 

“Wow, whoa there, babe, mind telling me what this is all about?” Dean pulled his head back gently while managing to keep a firm grip on Cas’ delightful behind. “Clearly something’s up and not just in your pants.”

 

Cas just looked at him, beaming. “Dean,” he said again.

 

Dean grinned. “Yep, that’s my name. Wanna tell me why you keep saying it like that?”

 

“This morning I received a surprise visit from my cousin Gabriel.” Cas pulled Dean in tighter. “He told me he was having a pie-making contest.”

 

“Holy shit, _THAT’S_ your cousin? Okay, yeah, name and all. No wonder you kicked him out. He seems pretty high-maintenance.” Cas could feel Dean smiling against his neck. “So… not to make this weird or anything, but there a particular reason visiting him got you this frisky?”

 

“He said…” Cas wriggled slightly out of Dean’s grasp and back into his arms, punctuating his statements with kisses, “you told him… you… had a… _boyfriend_ …”  

 

“Well, yeah, ‘course,” Dean said, pulling back slightly in surprise. “I asked if I could bring you and Sammy along, ‘cause hey, plenty of pie. I mean...shit, I hope that's cool with you? I know we haven't, uh, labels... But you gotta know I want us to be committed and exclusive and all that shit, 'cause you're..." He swallowed. "So, uh, boyfriends?"

 

"Boyfriends," Cas agreed, proceeding to kiss the living daylights out of Dean, because anyone who could look at Dean Winchester's expression— a potent mix of sincerity, adoration, a fair degree of lust, and a certain amount of nervousness— and consequently _not_ want to nip at the full bottom lip Dean was worrying between his teeth, was a stronger man than Castiel Novak and, frankly, also a complete idiot.

 

“Not only that, but since he doesn’t know about _us_ yet _..._ ” Cas added, giving Dean’s… his _boyfriend_ ’s butt a squeeze for emphasis, “He was abjectly apologizing for breaking my heart by having to tell me you were taken. He made me apology brownies. I could barely keep a straight face.”

 

“And that’s… good?” Dean said, skipping over the part where apparently Gabriel, who as far as he knew he’d only met once before, had known who he was and that Cas was into him. Given the choice between sorting that conundrum out and dealing with the six or so feet of sexy and obviously horny boyfriend currently pressed against him, he knew where his priorities lay. Heh, lay.

 

“Gabriel has been pranking me since he could walk, Dean,” Cas growled, as though Dean’s jeans needed to feel any damn tighter in the crotch. “This? This is _Christmas_.”

 

“Well in that case, how ‘bout you unwrap your present?” Dean said, grinning. He leaned in and whispered, “You know, your _boyfriend..._ ” into Cas’ ear.

 

Cas growled again, wordlessly this time, and surged forward. He gripped Dean by his jacket front and pulled him into a searing kiss, then shoved him backward toward the bedroom. Dean let himself be steered, trusting that Cas wouldn’t let him fall. Unless it was onto the bed, which was where Cas proceeded to throw him down, to Dean’s delight.

 

“Gotta — mff — do this stuff — more often,” Dean panted between biting kisses. Cas had crawled on top of him and was attacking his mouth, urgent and demanding. That lasted only a moment before Cas was tugging him upright and stripping off his jacket and plaid shirt at once, hurling them backwards over his head and yanking Dean’s T-shirt off so fast Dean’s eyes watered. “Hey, what about you?”

 

Cas just glared at him. “ _Pants,_ Dean.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re sittin’ on ‘em, Cas.”

 

Cas huffed and scuttled backwards, grabbing Dean’s belt buckle, and suddenly Dean’s pants were on the floor. And his boxers. Dean gaped, because apparently his boyfriend was some sort of nudity ninja. “How’d you—”

 

“ _DEAN.”_ Cas interrupted. “Less talking. More touching.”

 

“But you still have all your clothes on,” Dean argued, a bit breathlessly. Cas looked taken aback.

 

“So I do.” He proceeded to disrobe, and Dean could swear he was naked in seconds. Then every other thought left his head as Cas crawled back up his body and settled down, his warm weight and soft skin pulling Dean back into the moment. Cas’ face was just above Dean’s, and he took a moment to luxuriate in the closeness. Then Cas nudged their noses together, moving a hand to Dean’s hair and lowering his mouth for a kiss.

 

The kiss started out sweet, almost chaste, considering they were both naked, hard, and ready; then Cas deepened it by increments until he was essentially fucking into Dean’s mouth with his tongue, and Dean could only think of ways to get him closer, deeper, further in. They wound around each other tightly, and Dean reveled in the contact. Then Cas broke for air and nipped Dean’s jaw, moving his mouth Dean’s neck and sucking.

 

“Fuck, Cas, feel so good,” Dean murmured, throwing his head back and twining his legs through Cas’ in order to thrust up against him. Cas tightened his thighs around Dean’s, sliding their cocks together and rutting into the cut of Dean’s hipbone. Their hands were everywhere, sliding, groping, _touching_. Cas mouthed his way up Dean’s jaw to press kisses all over his face.

 

“So good, Dean,” Cas rasped, and Dean opened his eyes to find Cas looking back at him. For a moment they paused, and Dean was struck again by the beauty of Cas’ eyes. It was only a moment, but it felt momentous — Cas looked stunned, staring open-mouthed back at Dean, and the fluttering, jittery feeling in Dean’s chest melted into warm certainty.

 

Dean wanted to say something about how it made him feel, how _Cas_ made him feel, but what came out was, “God, Cas, want you to fuck me.”

 

Cas froze, then surged forward to start kissing Dean again.

 

“ _Dean…_ ”

 

“Cas, I want you so bad.” Dean was determined not to lose focus. It was pretty damned difficult with Cas doing that thing to his ear. He reciprocated, earning a shudder from Cas, then whispered, “I’ll blow you in the shower to take the edge off, then I want you inside me.”

 

Dean felt Cas’ body tense, then Cas rolled off Dean and onto his back on the bed, breathing hard.

 

“Cas? You okay?” Dean bit his lip in agitation.

 

Cas closed his eyes and breathed harshly through his nose. “Dean. You can’t just _say_ something like that while I’m on top of you.”

 

Dean heaved an inward sigh of relief and cuddled up to Cas, gently cupping his cheek and giving him a chaste kiss. He leaned close and whispered, “Aww, s’matter, angel? My dirty mouth get you all hot?”

 

Cas growled again, and Dean shivered. “I’ll show you how to use that dirty mouth to get me hot.” He rolled away from Dean and off the bed, then grabbed Dean’s wrist and towed him over to the edge. Dean’s sense of self-preservation kept him from falling, and he stumbled behind Cas to the bathroom. Cas quickly flipped on the shower, then cornered Dean against the sink. Dean let out a yelp as the cool surface met his ass.

 

“Serves you right,” Cas breathed in his ear, one hand tracing lightly through Dean’s happy trail. “You nearly made me come before I was ready.” Cas slid his hand upward, tweaking Dean’s nipple and making him yelp in surprise, breathing hotly in his ear and making him shudder. “I usually have excellent stamina, Dean. I’m going to prove it to you shortly.”

 

Dean gripped the countertop with both hands, then let go to slide his palms over Cas’ hips, pushing him backwards to where the shower was gently steaming. He guided Cas carefully into the tiny cubicle, then followed him under the spray. There really was barely enough room for both of them to stand, he thought, grinning.

 

“What’s that look for?” said Cas, playfully splashing Dean with the spray.

 

“Was just thinking that your shower’s really tiny. Good thing we won’t both be standing in here for too long.”

 

Cas squinted at Dean for a moment, then his eyes widened and he hurriedly reached for the combination body wash and shampoo that he favored. “Better get on with it, then,” he said, squirting a generous amount onto his palm. “Give me your hand.” Dean obliged, and Cas squeezed out a dollop of soap. Dean rubbed his palms together quickly, then reached out and smoothed a hand through Cas’ hair. Cas’ eyelids fluttered shut, and he hummed with pleasure. Soon they were soaping each other’s hair, then venturing downwards, washing each other carefully with the occasional gasp or giggle when one of them hit a sensitive spot.

 

Dean loved the slippery feel of Cas’ skin under his hands, and as soon as Cas had rinsed most of the soap out of his hair, he moved forward and pressed Cas against the shower wall. He wiggled against him a little bit, enjoying the lack of friction, and Cas threw his arms around Dean’s neck to keep his balance. Dean insinuated a hand between them, both of them gasping as he grasped their cocks together. The water and soap combined with the feel of Cas’ firmness against his was almost too much, Dean thought as he worked his hand slowly, feeling Cas’ legs shaking and hearing his soft murmurs and gasps over the sound of falling water.

 

“Gotta clean you up just to get you dirty again, angel.” Dean stroked one more time, then gripped Cas’ hips and lowered himself to his knees. Cas’ cock was right in front of him, wet and tempting. Dean let the spray rinse the soap off, then gripped the base lightly with his hand and gave a tentative lick to the head. Cas moaned.

 

Dean looked up to see his angel’s eyes blown wide, reddened lips parted, the beads of water on his face making him look sinfully hot. Dean grinned slowly as their eyes met, and leaned forward to circle his tongue around Cas’ slit.

 

“God, _Dean!”_ Cas groaned, steadying himself by gripping tightly onto Dean’s shoulders. Dean could feel Cas’ legs still trembling, and braced him with a hand on one thigh. He guided Cas’ cock deeper into his mouth, sucking hard and pressing his tongue just under the head. Cas practically thrashed under him, and Dean was glad he was holding Cas steady. In just a few moments he felt the telltale final surge of stiffening in Cas’ cock, and pulled off with a filthy pop. Cas shuddered, groaning, and came over Dean’s hand.

 

Dean quickly got to his feet and gathered Cas in for a kiss. Cas was practically limp, and Dean chuckled as Cas mumbled unintelligibly in his ear.

 

“What was it you were saying earlier about stamina?” he teased. Cas just smiled and kissed him again.

 

The water was starting to run cold by the time they stepped out of the shower. Dean dragged the fluffy blue towel off the hook on the back of the door and drew it around a shivering Cas.

 

“Don’t worry, angel, we’ll get you warmed up soon.” Dean smoothed the towel gently over Cas’ head, smiling as Cas leaned into his touch. He patted Cas dry, then gave himself a perfunctory wipe and hung the towel back up. Cas was just standing there, swaying perceptibly, a blissed-out look on his face. Dean ran a hand down his arm and tangled their fingers together, and Cas’ focus snapped back to Dean.

 

“Bed?” Cas murmured, his gaze flickering from Dean’s eyes to his mouth. Dean licked his lips.

 

“Yeah,” he breathed, and tugged. Cas followed.

 

They tumbled onto the bed as soon as they reached it, rolling over each other in a mock-tussle until Cas came out triumphantly on top. Dean looked up at him, flushed and grinning.

 

“Gotcha,” Cas said, then his smile faded and he turned suddenly wide-eyed and serious. “Dean…”

 

“Lube,” said Dean, panting, already five steps ahead, still horny as hell, and wanting Cas inside him NOW. “And condoms. God, Cas, I want—”

 

“Okay. Okay.” Cas pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s mouth, and Dean raised up to chase it as Cas leaned far to the side. Dean heard the drawer open and Cas fumble inside. He stroked up Cas’ ribs as his motions got progressively more frantic.

 

“God fucking dammit, it was right HE— AHA!” Cas flung himself upright, triumphantly holding aloft the bottle and a strip of about six condoms. Dean snorted a laugh. Cas raised an eyebrow.

 

“Something funny, Winchester?” he purred, sinking lower over Dean. The heat in his eyes brought goosebumps to Dean’s skin, and Cas chuckled darkly, smoothing a hand up and down Dean’s arm, trailing fingers over Dean’s sensitive ribs, dragging out a yelp. Then Cas was sliding lower, hands cupping Dean’s hipbones and stroking down his thighs.  Dean felt Cas’ hands under his knees, urging him up. He raised his legs, feet on the bedspread, and felt the heat of Cas’ sigh on his calf. “God, Dean. You’re amazing.” Cas pressed a kiss to the side of his knee. “I want to give you so much.”

 

Dean felt exposed, open, charged with expectation; he let his legs fall wider. Cas’ breath hitched and Dean felt Cas’ hand slide higher on his thigh. Dean gripped the sheets in either hand in anticipation.

 

“I’m going to touch you now.” Cas’ voice was hushed, almost reverent. Dean tensed a tiny bit, then relaxed as he felt Cas’ hand gently cup his balls, then stroke downward over his perineum. His fingers were slick with lube but warm; somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean appreciated Cas’ thoughtfulness, but the sensation of Cas’ fingers drove away all rational thought.

 

“Hnnng,” Dean said coherently as Cas’ finger circled his rim. Dean reached down to tangle his own fingers in Cas’ hair, enjoying the feel of the soft damp strands and resisting the urge to push Cas’ head where he really wanted it to go.

 

“I want to put my mouth on you, Dean,” said Cas, voice rough and low, as if Dean’s cock needed any more incentive to harden. “I want to taste you, taste all of you, put my tongue inside you.”

 

Dean felt Cas’ stubble stroke across his sensitive inner thigh. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean panted. “Less talk, more dick.” Cas mouthed his skin, then bit, and Dean’s hips flexed upwards. Cas’ finger slid in, just a little bit, and Dean swore. Cas tutted, then shushed Dean as he whined at the pressure when Cas added a second fingertip.

 

Dean tightened his grip on Cas’ hair. “C’mon, Cas, I’m ready, I want it,” he gasped, straining upward and into the sweet stretch of Cas’ fingers.

 

“You are, Dean, so ready,” Cas murmured. “God, I can’t wait to feel you, you’ll be so good, make you feel so good.” Cas was babbling, and Dean loved it, loved knowing that he made the normally unflappable Cas break down and just _feel_.

 

Dean felt Cas fumble, readying the condom, then his fingers withdrew, making Dean whine and buck his hips a little, wrapping his hands around Cas’ biceps. Soon enough, however, he felt the head of Cas’ cock pressing against him, and he hooked one leg around Cas’ hip to urge him on. The stretch was good, so good, and Dean threw his head back and moaned as Cas entered him in one slick, gorgeous slide. He lost himself in it, the fullness, the stretch, just wanting Cas closer, deeper, _more._

 

“Dean,” Cas gasped. pulling out slightly just to push in deeper. He was on his elbows over Dean, now, pressed close, Dean’s cock getting the barest friction between them as Cas thrust in tiny, grinding circles. Dean could feel Cas’ arms flexing as he bowed over Dean, still teasing with maddeningly slow gyrations of his hips.

 

“Cas, please,” Dean whined, throwing his head back, digging his fingers in and trying to get Cas to thrust harder.  “ _Move,_ dammit!”  

 

“God, Dean, you feel amazing.” Cas’ soft voice shook in his ear as he panted. “Trying not to— want you to come first this time.” Cas stilled his hips, pressing his forehead to Dean’s. “Just give me…”

 

“You take your time, angel,” Dean said softly, kissing Cas’ open mouth, relaxing into the pleasure he felt just from having Cas inside. “You feel goddamn perfect.”

 

“Dean,” Cas gasped again and moved, pushing Dean’s thighs upward and outward, pulling out slowly then slamming back in. Dean cried out as the head of Cas’ cock slid directly over his prostate. Shocks of pleasure wound through him and centered on the feeling of pulsing fullness as his orgasm approached inevitability. He wound his arms around Cas’ neck, his legs around Cas’ back, and clung tightly, moaning as Cas pounded into him.

 

If Dean had actually been able to come just from prostate stimulation he’d probably have done it right then. He’d been turned on for what seemed like forever and, now, the sensation of his amazing boyfriend’s equally amazing dick filling him over and over again was keeping him right on the edge in what was simultaneously one of the most amazing and most frustrating experiences of his life.

 

Instead he adjusted his grip on Cas, reaching one hand between them to grab at his own cock. His hand, slick with sweat, slid up and down the shaft a couple of times and grabbed at the head before he was coming, hard and messy, over both of their stomachs.

 

“Caaasssss...” Dean whined, feeling as though the orgasm— and his breath— had been punched out of him. Or maybe that was Cas, still pushing in and out of him hard and fast. “God, Cas, _fuck._ ”

 

“Yes, Dean, _yes,_ ” Cas groaned as he shuddered, clutching Dean’s thighs harder and bending him forward still further. He thrust wildly into Dean, losing his rhythm as his orgasm hit. Dean rode out his own tingling aftershocks and watched Cas’ face, mesmerized, as Cas’ pleasure played out and he slowed to a few more languid strokes. Cas smiled softly down at Dean, releasing his legs to pull out, tying off the condom and tossing it in the general direction of the wastebasket. Dean sighed at the sudden emptiness, but then Cas was there, putting an arm beneath his neck and pulling him close. Cas pressed kisses to his cheek, then his eyebrow, and finally the end of his nose before settling beside him with a sigh of contentment.

 

“Just so you know, I don’t do cuddles,” Dean said, pulling Cas’ body closer until it was half draped over his own.

 

“Of course not,” Cas said, wiggling into a more comfortable position. “This is obviously simply an efficient way of maintaining post-coital full-body contact.”

 

“Damn straight,” Dean said, turning slightly so his back was nestled tightly against Cas’ front.

 

“Practically a colonnade,” Cas agreed, nuzzling against the short hairs on the back of Dean’s neck.

 

*******

 

“Cas?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“These are damn good brownies.”

 

“He’s had a lot of chances to practice them.”

 

“Wanna bet they taste even better eaten off your naked body?”

  
“You’re on, Winchester.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: You can all just imagine a scene prior to this one in which Dean and Cas talk responsibly about safe sex and exchange clean test results, k? K.
> 
> AN: Hey all, RA here. Again with the delay in posting!! Again with the “life intervenes!!!”...which these days is mostly RA falling asleep at 8:30pm while Winter all-caps-texts fruitlessly. Welp, per fas et nefas, we WILL get the entire thing posted!! Although...with the edits we’ve been contemplating...we may end up with slightly more than 15 chapters. HORRIBLE I KNOW HOW WILL YOU COPE?! But we’ve gotta wrap this up, because we’ve got more writing to do, including the upcoming DCBB! So there’s that.
> 
> A/N: (Winter) you'll also notice that Astrolabe is now part of a series, Terra Incognita. We're planning a sequel as well as time stamps, so subscribe to make sure you don't miss any of it! Y'know, if you're into that sort of thing. And as ever, thank you for reading, especially as our once tidy update schedule continues to go off the rails. (Cue pic of RA shrieking on a rollercoaster)
> 
> The first of the timestamps, Rubrication, is complete and will be posted once we’ve finished posting Astrolabe.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author update and a link to the first timestamp.

So get this: we feel horrible about how much our update schedule has gone off the rails. I'm in the middle of preparing to quit my job and move halfway across the country to go back to grad school again in the fall (because you can never have too many degrees or too few job prospects), and RA is having a bunch of personal stuff right now. We'd love nothing more than to work on writing instead, but I'm not sure exactly when that's realistically going to be. (One up side: where I'm moving means I'll be a lot closer to RA which long run will hopefully mean writing more/faster)

I promise we will update as soon as we're able to, whether it's a Saturday or not, and that we are, pinkie swear, absolutely going to get this bad boy done.

As a way of saying sorry and THANK YOU SO MUCH for sticking with us anyway, we're posting the first Astrolabe timestamp early. It's called [Rubrication](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4375478), and it's set during Cas' conference in May. There are no spoilers for Astrolabe per se, (aside from us being big believers in happy endings, which you might already have noticed), but no specifics.[  
](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4375478)

Thank you again for reading! Your comments and kudos mean so much to us, especially when lots of other things in our lives are sources of stress.

Please enjoy Rubrication, and I hope to be speaking to you again soon!

 

-winter-


	16. Chapter 16

[texts]

 

[Dean]: Family’s awesome, but it is stupid how much I miss you

 

[Dean]: Can we agree not to do this again next year?

 

[Dean]: The not being with each other over christmas thing

 

[Dean]: Sam’s told everyone about you they all want to meet you

 

[Dean]: Cause you’re awesome

 

[Dean]: Miss you Cas

 

[Dean]: Miss you so much

 

[Dean]: Youre so pretty you got these gorgeouseyes theyre so damn blue and your ass is a marvel of engineering duck man what is your face its not fair

 

[Dean]: Ignore my last text

 

[Dean]: Please

 

[Cas]: I miss you too Dean. Very much.

 

[Cas]: I’m sorry I took so long to respond we only just returned from Midnight Mass.

 

[Cas]: I know we haven’t been together long but my bed here feels very empty and cold.

 

[Cas]: Not just because you’re a human furnace.

 

[Cas]: Which you are.

 

[Cas]: We’ll figure out something else next year.

 

[Cas]: Merry Christmas, Dean.

  


***

 

Gabe swore under his breath as he puttered behind the counter. He hadn’t been this keyed up since that time in 5th grade when he’d placed a whoopee cushion on Ms. Lee’s seat and spent most of the afternoon waiting for her to finally sit down on it.

 

Not about the pie, of course. The pie was totally in the bag. Gabriel had never been accused of lacking self-confidence, and he was even more secure in his baking prowess than he was in his oceans of sexual magnetism.

 

He wasn’t looking forward to the meeting he was imagining between Cassie and the Grande Americano, however. He could just see his cousin’s sad puppy-dog eyes as he took in whatever mountain troll-slash-supermodel Dean Winchester brought with him as his boyfriend. Cassie hadn’t dated in way too long as it was, and Gabriel only hoped that finding out his crush was taken wasn’t going to set him back even further into his academic hermitage. He’d take him out for drinks after this was over. Celebratory drinks, because he was going to kick this jerk’s ass at pie baking and teach him not to challenge the Pie Master. And if he was feeling a little extra vindictive because this idiot didn’t have the good sense to sweep Cassie off his studious little feet, well, it gave his pies that little extra spice (beyond the cinnamon).

 

Cassie had texted to say he was running a few minutes behind, which was unusual for him. Poor guy was probably dreading this too. It wasn’t every day you got your heart crushed in person by the guy you were crushing on.

 

The door chime played “Uptown Funk,” and think of the devil, Dean Winchester sauntered through Gabe’s door, a covered pie cradled carefully in his arms.

 

“So, uh, my brother’s getting a lift, but the pie still needs a few minutes to cool anyway, I basically took it out of the oven and headed over here.”

 

“And your… boyfriend?”

 

Dean smiled this sweet, stupid little smirking smile that had Gabe’s back teeth aching. “Yeah, he’ll get here soon.”

 

“Well,” Gabe said through clenched teeth he was hoping the guy would mistake for a smile, “why don’t you just set yours on the counter to cool while Charlie and I finish closing the shop up?”

 

“Yo, Boss, time to cash out!” Charlie bounced out of the back room and approached the register. “Oh, hey, Dean! What brings you in here so late?” She gave a little wave and busied herself at the counter.

 

“Hey, Charlie, how’s it going?” Winchester’s smirk grew even smirkier, Gabe thought, as he placed the pie on a convenient table and shrugged out of his jacket. “Gabe and I have a gentleman’s wager going, gonna see what’s what tonight.”

 

“Oooh, it’s with you?” Charlie squealed, eyes wide. “I knew there was pie, but I didn’t know it would be YOUR pie! I’m in.” The cash register dinged approvingly.

 

Great, even his own staff had turned against him. He was surrounded by traitors. Gabe busied himself hustling the few remaining patrons out the door with a little more hustle than usual. “C’mon, c’mon, we ain’t got all night, we close at six…”

 

“It’s only five forty five!” the Asian kid complained, shoving his usual pile of textbooks into a giant backpack.

 

“It’s six pm somewhere, kid, get going, shoo, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”

 

“Here, take a cookie for the road, Kevin,” Charlie said, running over to shove a paper bag in the kid’s hand before Gabe could forcibly eject him. She shot Gabe a Look, but dammit, he was the boss, he did what he wanted.

 

Charlie grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards the back. “Hey, boss, why don’t you go _in the back_ and grab your pie and I’ll finish clearing things in here.”

 

“Sure, fine, I know when I’m not wanted.” Gabe eyerolled and pouted his way into the back room, where Garth gave him a cheery wave as he dried the last of the baking pans.

 

His perfect, amazing, practically-the-Platonic-ideal-of-an-apple-pie pie sat carefully on the stainless steel counter in the back, wisps of steam wafting aromatically from it. He could hear the noises of chairs being stacked and people leaving, the door merrily chasing them out to the dulcet tones of Taylor Swift...

 

“Sammy!” he heard Winchester call out from the front. Gabe carefully picked up his under-the-dictionary-entry-for-pie-you’ll-find-a-picture-of-this-pie pie. Time to face the music. He carefully backed through the swinging door and turned around. He could almost feel it as his welcoming smile froze on his face.

 

Of all the fucking luck.

 

Bad enough that Winchester looked like some kind of underwear model, but as it turned out, the guy’s boyfriend was unquestionably the hottest man Gabriel had ever seen. He was HUGE, taller than Dean by several inches with a jawline that could cut glass, and Gabriel wanted to climb those rock-hard pecs like they were a cliff face. The guy’s hair was just shaggy enough to wonder if he liked having it pulled, and those feet… they were big. Like his hands. Big hands, but gentle hands. Big _everything._

_  
_

Gabe gently lowered his pie onto the counter before he could drop it. Damned if he’d let Winchester win that way. Or at all, but definitely not because Gabe had apparently just re-entered puberty.

 

“...along in a minute, he had to find change for the meter,” the gorgeous giant was saying to his boyfriend. They even sort of dressed alike, like after this taste-off they were going to go pose for a sexy lumberjack calendar. He could just see it, Sammy shirtless, flannel tied around his waist, one booted foot up on a tree stump with an axe slung casually over his shoulder.

 

It just wasn’t fair.

 

Gabe vaguely recognized that Dean was making some kind of introduction as Charlie joined the group, but it was all sort of a blur as he was taken on a magical mental journey to a Casa Erotica special in which the short but undeniably charismatic and attractive baker accidentally spilled powdered sugar on the sexy visiting lumberjack and was then ordered to lick every inch of it off. Slowly.

 

“So Gabriel, this is…”

 

 _“Take me to church, I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies…”_ the doorbell played as Cassie _finally_ arrived. Gabe shook off the daydream and covered his lapse in attention by pretending to adjust his pie slightly on the counter.

 

The cafe went silent as his cousin strode in, stopping a few feet in front of Winchester. The two immediately locked eyes, holding each other’s gaze with the rising intensity of the air before a thunderstorm. This was going to end so badly.

 

“So, introductions!” Charlie said brightly and clapped her hands. Gabe’s attention swung her way for a brief moment.  “So this is Dean, of course, and this is Sam, and I’m Charlie, and he’s Gabriel, and this is Castiel.”

 

“So, _Castiel_ was it?” Dean said, drawling out the name like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

 

Gabe’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe the fucking nerve of him. Was this asshole seriously going to flirt with his poor cousin Cassie right in front of his sex-god boyfriend? Wait, had he actually just _winked_?! Gabe was about to...

 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, his face expressive in its complete lack of an expression, and Gabe was suddenly reminded of that time Cassie had taken on four school bullies at once to defend another boy on the playground.

 

Oh shit this was gonna go south in another minute. Maybe he could hold him down while Cassie punched him. Maybe he could have Charlie hold him down while Cassie punched him. Maybe Winchester’s boyfriend would help and then Gabe could offer to console him for having such a douchebag of a newly-ex-boyfriend. Maybe…

 

...Maybe Cassie was going to stride forward, grab Winchester, and fucking _dip_ him into a full-on romance-novel-cover-Gone-With-the-Wind DIP, ending with the sort of kiss that was probably still illegal in at least twelve states.

 

When Gabe was finally able to pull his eyes away from the sight of his cousin attempting to perform an emergency tonsillectomy with his tongue (though Winchester seemed pretty into it, from the way he was clutching at Cassie) to look at everyone else, his jaw dropped even lower.

 

Sam-the-Paul-Bunyan-lookalike was rubbing a hand over his face, but his expression was less the shock, horror, and disgust that the occasion clearly demanded and more a sort of bemused resignation. And Charlie… Charlie had her cellphone out, recording.

 

Recording HIM.

 

What in the Sam Hill?

 

Sam tapped Cassie on the shoulder. “You can come up for air any time now.”

 

“Can you…” Cassie said, and Sammy helped pull the couple upright. “Suitably romantic, but hard on the back.”

 

“I’ll make sure to dip you next time, Cas,” Winchester said, and shit, they were staring into each other’s eyes again, and nope, that was definitely not aggression he was seeing there.

 

“Are they always…?” Charlie asked sotto voce.

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”

 

“You… he… they… “ Gabriel managed, with some difficulty. “What?”

 

Dean grinned. “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Castiel. Though I’m pretty sure you’ve already met.” He winked.

 

“Hello, Gabriel,” Cassie said, with the biggest shit eating grin on his face Gabe had ever seen.

 

“You… he… Cassie you little _shit_ ,” Gabe said, torn between fury and sheer bloody admiration. “I’m so… so _proud_ of you.” For getting the guy and for managing to out-prank the master. He mimed wiping a tear from his eye. “My little cousin, all grown up. Learned from the best.”

 

“You should have seen his face! Completely gobsmacked. It was beautiful,” Charlie added. “I’ve got it recorded, since you guys were distracted. Ahem.”

 

They crowded around her phone to watch the replay, and Gabe couldn’t help but notice Dean’s arm wrapped around his cousin’s waist, hand slipped in the back pocket. Man, they both had it bad. “Shame it’s too late to use that image as a Christmas card design,” Cas said. “Next year, perhaps. I could add a holly border.”

 

“Anyway,” Dean said, pulling away, “we’ve still got very important pie business to conduct.”

 

“So wait,” Gabe said. “You’re dating my cousin…” he pointed at Dean, “Shovel rules apply, by the way.” He turned to Sam. “So that makes you…”

 

“Sam Winchester, Dean’s brother,” Sam said, grinning at him, and oh hell did he look good when he smiled. “Big fan of your baking.”

 

“Well shit,” Gabe said weakly, reaching out his own hand to shake Sam’s. “I guess they do come in venti.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winter: Wow. Wow. Thank you. Thank you all for reading, and subscribing, and kudosing, and commenting, and for sticking with us when our update schedule suddenly went to hell. It's over, we finally got here, 35k. (Plus timestamps.) Wow. Thank you all so, so much. I'd also like to give extra special thanks to Vulgarweed and our magical, wonderful cheerleader-and-general-support-network PorcupineGirl. And of course to my epically badass co-author, RA. Couldn't have done it without you, bitch.
> 
> RA: Holy crap it's done. What Winter said, with extra hugs to Vulgarweed and PG. 35K EPISTOLARY FIC FTW!!! It helps that Winter and I are no longer half a continent apart but are a MERE HOUR AWAY. It's amazing. She can poke me in person. Look, it worked!! Again, thank you for being here despite the long hiatus, and thanks for the well wishes for our chaotic lives. And thanks to Winter for poking me where it counts. Oh wait. Jerk.
> 
> And as ever, you can follow whatever it is we're doing (usually a lot of SPN gif set reblogging) on tumblr at bamfinacuddlyjumper (Winter) and reluctantabandon (reluctantabandon we probably didn't actually have to spell that out for you, you seem clever).

**Author's Note:**

> Many and effusive thanks to our beta readers Vulgarweed, LaReineNoire, and donottakeittooseriously, who won't give us her AO3 username =D
> 
> This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. We, the authors, do not give permission for this work being shared with or read aloud by the press, or anyone working on said production of Supernatural, including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. We also do not give permission share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which we believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Proof](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492171) by [PorcupineGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcupineGirl/pseuds/PorcupineGirl)




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